Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth
by Telcontar Rulz
Summary: Legolas is left with the suspicion that he might be mortal. He and his friends must find a cure for his condition before his suspicion can be confirmed. Jack must come to terms with his past, for it might just determine all their futures.
1. Live a Little

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them to their rightful owners, savvy?

**Chapter 1: Live a Little**

The chanting went on, repeating, unending. Energy filled the air around them as it gathered; an intangible force. It was not something that could be physically detected, for it could not be seen, it had no scent, it made no sound. The only thing that could sense this energy was a soul.

It surrounded the spring in the centre of this circle of men, and as it did, a net was woven around the spring, hiding it from the rest of the world. "Immortality should never come to those who were meant to die," said the eldest of the chanters. He had lived so long that no one could remember a time when he had been young. In fact, there was a rumour that he had been born old. "The day someone finds this spring will be a sign that the end is near."

* * *

_The world was becoming grey. He walked in the shadows of twilight alone in complete silence. There was nothing except the whisper of cold breezes that carried voices from ancient memories. His feet felt heavy. Suddenly, he staggered and he flailed, reaching out for something to steady himself with. There was a tree, leafless and long dead. The bark felt rough against the skin of his palm. He leaned against it, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath. As he looked on, he realized that his skin seemed to be growing thinner and looser by the moment. Blotches appeared. Even the shape of his hand had changed. His fingers, once long and slender, had become gnarled and misshapen. The cold seeped into his bones. As he watched, the skin began to disintegrate and fall from his bones until there was nothing left but a skeletal hand..._

* * *

Legolas sat up. He was bathed in cold sweat and gasping for breath. He was the only one who was awake. The rest of the crew were still deep in sleep, untroubled by dreams of death. He looked at his hands. They were still smooth and unblemished but somehow, they felt weaker. He rubbed his face with one hand. The nightmares were becoming more and more frequent, and unfortunately for him, he needed more sleep these days. He needed the sleep of mortals. The elf shivered. He felt the cold more keenly too, and he was beginning to comprehend just how much the other members of the Fellowship had suffered when they had attempted to pass over Caradhras. How strong willed his companions had been!

A dull headache throbbed behind his eyes, and his nose was blocked. Apparently, this was a 'minor cold'. He was never ever going to tease his mortal friends for complaining about colds again. It was impossible for those who had not experienced them to know just how 'hellish' they were, to borrow a word from some of his closest mortal acquaintances. He pulled a blanket around his shoulders and swung his feet over the edge of the hammock. It was impossible to fall asleep again after such a dream. It was so vivid. Even now, he half-expected to see himself wither away.

The boards of the ship creaked. At least they were sailing through still waters for now. The elf carefully picked his way between the rows of hammocks and made his way to the steps which led up to the deck. He needed some fresh air and perhaps the sight of open sky. The stars, as distant as they seemed now, were still a welcome sight. Someone muttered something about tentacles in their sleep. Probably one of the pirates. The ship was rocking gently like a cradle, making it difficult for him to balance. Jack had said that he would find his 'sea legs' soon enough. A year ago, he would not have had these problems.

Once again, he cursed Ambrosius de Magio. That cardinal had been more trouble than he was worth. And although Legolas was hardly ever one to hold uncharitable thoughts about those who were not orcs or trolls or creatures of the dark, this was one man he could neither forget nor forgive.

The cold ocean breezes made him shiver again, despite the blanket. He hated being so frail, so weak. "You shouldn't be up here, y'know," said a familiar drawl. "Now that you feel like one of us mere mortals and all, you're gonna need your rest."

"I can't sleep, Jack," the elf replied. "I don't like being away from the stars."

"That's jus' an excuse, mate, an' you know it," said Jack from the stern. The pirate had one hand on the wheel and was holding his compass with the other. "I wish this damn needle would stop spinnin'," he muttered, giving the compass a shake before snapping it close again. "You can't sleep coz of them nightmares."

"You know about them?" asked Legolas. If Jack knew, then who else knew? He didn't want the entire crew to be aware of just how many problems he had. He didn't like being frail, and he liked letting others know of his frailty even less.

"Who _doesn't _know?" said Jack with a shrug. "It ain't nuthin' to have nightmares from time to time when you're under a bit o' stress. I get them, the Perfect Knight gets them, that damn monkey gets a hell of a lot of them..."

"Thank you, Jack," said Legolas. "I feel so much better after having been compared to an undead monkey."

"I'm jus' sayin' that you're not alone, mate," said the pirate. Even though Legolas could not see his face very well, for the thin sliver of moon in the sky gave very little light and he was half-blind, as far as he was concerned, he could almost _hear_ the grin in Jack's voice.

"How do you deal with them, the nightmares?" asked Legolas hesitantly. Jack was right about one thing; he did need rest. The lack of sleep was taking a toll on him.

"Why do you think I like rum so much?"

"I recommend absinthe if it's a sleeping draught that you're looking for," said another voice behind the elf, making him whip around and reach for his knives before he realized two very important things. One, he did not have his knives with him, and two, he had no need of them. Once again, he was reminded of just what he had lost, as if he needed reminding at all. Before that encounter with a certain cardinal in that forest in Europe, Will Turner would never have been able to sneak up on him like that.

"I don't think Lizzie would approve of that, mate," Jack pointed out.

"I'm not the one drinking the absinthe, Jack," replied Will.

"Ah, but the fact that you have it means that you have been drinking it at some point, savvy?"

"That is pure conjecture and you know it!"

"There is always some truth behind a conjecture, Whelp..."

Legolas let them argue. Their voices were familiar and comforting, and so was the bantering. Some things never changed. His thoughts wandered back to the day when Jack had burst into Aragorn's largest conference room whilst a meeting of the High Council had been taking place, blabbering about a fountain of immortal life. The startled councillors had been so stunned that they had only been able to stare at the seemingly mad pirate —who had been extremely loud— for many moments before someone had thought to call for the Elite Guard. Of course, the Elite Guard had been captained by Achilles, who, instead of throwing Jack out as the councillors had thought he would, had started asking about the location of said fountain, thus resulting in many of the councillors wondering if the King had been intoxicated when he had appointed these men to their positions. Legolas himself had been standing in the doorway of the conference room, seeing the first rays of hope ever since he had been poisoned. Needless to say, that meeting of the High Council had ended rather quickly and unexpectedly.

After a long rambling and incomprehensible explanation by Jack, Aragorn had granted them permission to leave Gondor in search of this legendary Fountain. They all knew why he had released his best naval officers, his head siege engineer and his trusted advisor from their duties, and it wasn't because the fountain itself had piqued his interest.

Therefore, Legolas and his friends had left behind everything familiar, including wives and children, in order to find a quiet secluded place with a good 'strange vibe', as Jack had called it, where they could flip the ship and hopefully end up in World's End, which was the transitory place from which they could reach any world. At least, that was the theory.

Of course, they were making this voyage with a different ship this time, for Aragorn had not let them go without conditions. One of them was leaving the _Black Pearl _behind.

"Raiders from the coast have been kept at bay simply because they know the reputation of the _Black Pearl_ and of our navy," the king had said. "Therefore, the _Pearl _stays in Gondor. I need her presence to enforce the illusion that my admiral and naval captains are still here." Thus, they had taken another ship, one that they had built according to Jack and Barbossa's specifications. They had creatively named her the _Black Opal_ and this was her maiden voyage.

The _Opal_ was the same as the _Pearl_ in every respect except size, and name, of course. Even the sails were black. The _Opal_ was slightly larger than the _Pearl_, with ten cannon ports on each side and a triple gun at the front —at Will's insistence. It was slower, because of the bulk, but just slightly. Many fondly said that it was the _Pearl_ with armour.

"With all the noise you are making, I wonder how anybody is expected to sleep," said Paris, stepping out from below the deck. He had changed a lot ever since Legolas had first met him. There was now an air of maturity about him, and he wore it well. If anything, it only made him all the more charming. His ran his fingers through sleep-tousled curls, messing them up even more. This was not easy for him, leaving behind his wife and very young daughter —again— so that he could go along with his brothers in arms on yet another misadventure, and it was bound to be a misadventure. However, Helen had understood that he would never be content to be left behind.

"You would worry about them unceasingly if you were to remain," she had said to him in front of everyone else, that was to say, their odd family consisting mainly of people who had no blood relationships at all. Andromache had said the same and in the end, it was the womenfolk who had helped the prince to decide.

"If no one's expected to be able to sleep, why is everyone else still sleeping?" retorted Jack.

"Balian can sleep through a siege. You know that," said Paris. "As a matter of fact, so can Achilles."

"I might be able to sleep through a siege, but even I cannot sleep through this ruckus," said aforementioned knight as he came up to join them. "Although, I have no idea why _no _one is sleeping. We could be shipwrecked any minute. You might as well sleep while you can."

"And because we could be shipwrecked any minute, I would rather be prepared and awake when it does happen," said Paris. Being more of a diplomat than a warrior, he was always more tense than the others when it came to the prospect of facing something that could not be overcome by wits and words alone. This was something that he was always teased about, although Legolas suspected that he was secretly very proud of being the only decent diplomat in this rabble of princes and pirates and everything in between.

"You're more worried than our resident grandfather," said Jack with a snigger. "Barbossa's out like a light, jus' the way I like 'im."

"Unfortunately for you and I both, Jack Sparra, I be unable to remain that way for long with the noise you be makin'," said the old pirate as he, too, emerged from the hatch which led to the crew's sleeping quarters. By rights, he really ought to be in the captain's cabin, or so he claimed, but since he was a 'gentleman', he had offered the captain's cabin to the ladies of the crew, although that had been after much persuasion from the true gentlemen. After all, he and Jack had almost drawn swords over who got to have the captain's quarters. This had been the best solution.

"Has anyone realized that the moon is still high in the sky and that the sun has not been seen yet?" came a voice from within the cabin. The men stilled. If Barbossa was the most seasoned out of all of them by merit of age and the number of deeds of questionable legality that he had performed, then Elizabeth Swann-Turner was quite possibly the most ill-tempered of their company, followed closely by Anna-Maria. Jack maintained that it was Elizabeth's privileged upbringing that made her so 'snappy', as he had so eloquently put it once. Legolas, however, was of the opinion that it was simply because she was female. After all, Anna-Maria had had anything but a privileged upbringing, but she was hardly any more mild-tempered than the Pirate King.

"Achilles has, Lady Elizabeth," called Paris. "Then again, he did lose abysmally to me in Liar's Dice."

"It is not his fault that he is an honest man!" said another woman. "Unlike some others, I might add."

"There is such a thing as too much of a good thing, dear cousin!" cried Paris without even missing a beat. "I fear that your beloved captain is too honest for his own good, honesty being a euphemism for simplicity." Paris and Achilles had used everything in their power to dissuade Briseis from joining in. However, stubbornness seemed to be a trait of the House of Assaracus, for she had adamantly refused to be left behind, no matter how persuasive Paris' arguments had been or how much Achilles had begged —and yes, the great Achilles had been reduced to begging his wife in the end. She, however, had merely had to point out that she was a lot more adept with a sword than her cousin was before Paris had —for lack of a better term— 'shut up', leaving Achilles to fight the losing battle on his own.

"Did I hear wrongly, or did _someone_ just call me simple?" There was silence, and then the entire crew started laughing.

"Methinks the Greek did not lose so 'abysmally' after all," said Barbossa.

"Well, now," said Paris, flustered that his assumption had been proven wrong. Legolas supposed that since he was hardly ever wrong, it only stood that he would have trouble accepting those times when he was. "Since we are all awake, maybe we should flip the boat now?"

"It ain't that simple, princeling," said Jack. "Remember the whole 'sunrise sets' part? We gotta wait until the next sunset."

"Great," muttered Paris. Now he did not have the advantage of dunking those who would otherwise laugh at him for his mistake.

"Therefore, we might as well enjoy ourselves while we wait, savvy?" said Jack. "Now, who's up fer a game o' Liar's Dice?"

* * *

The cold of the water came as a sudden shock after all the exertion from after having run from one side of the ship to another. Balian barely managed to keep his mouth shut against the rush of sea water. There was a flash of green light, and he felt himself being pushed through the water by some unknown force. Pale bubbles, illuminated by the green light, obscured his vision. The water roared as it rushed past his ears.

Then they burst into warm sunshine and sultry still air. It did not take a genius to figure out where they were, for they had been here multiple times. In fact, they had been here more times than they had been to any other place.

The Frenchman shook his head and pushed his wet hair away from his face. All around him, the crew were already climbing to their feet and Jack was shaking water out of his hat. Just as he had expected, there was no other ship, except...

"I am beginning to think that you have a death wish!" shouted the captain from the other ship.

"Not a death wish, Hector!" Paris shouted back to his brother. "Aren't I allowed to visit my brother once in a while?"

"What have you done this time?" The expression Hector wore was one of a patient parent waiting for his child to confess. Now, Balian had not been a child for a very long time, and theoretically, Hector was only a few years older than him. However, at the moment, he was getting a very good sense of what his son must feel like when he admonished him for doing something.

"It's more like what we haven't done yet," said Jack with a snort as he wrung out his bandana and sash. The water that came from the fabric was rather greyish looking. "We gotta get back to my world, y'know? So you're at the right place, because we need your help to make sure that we _do_ end up in the right place, savvy?"

"What be makin' ye think that it be _your_ world, Sparra?" challenged Barbossa. "It be mine as much as it be yours."

"And it's the Whelp's as much as it's yours," retorted Jack. "Why hasn't he said anything yet?"

"Because _Admiral William Turner_ is sensible enough to know when _not_ to waste energy," muttered Will. Gimli patted his arm sympathetically whilst trying to wring water out of his beard, without much success. Out of the lot of them, the dwarf seemed to have fared the worst. For one, Gimli was no sailor, and secondly, the dwarf was wearing his characteristic chainmail. Said chainmail was going to rust very soon if something was not done about it.

"Hey, actually," said Jack, ignoring Will, "maybe _you_ can tell us where the Fountain of Youth is, seein' as you're the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ and lord of the sea and so on and so forth."

"Being the captain of the _Dutchman_ is not the equivalent of being Poseidon," said Hector. "I thought that you of all people would know that, Jack."

* * *

He might not have been the equivalent of Poseidon, but Hector was a lord of the sea, nonetheless, and he had lived up to his brother's expectations. He might not have been able to tell them where the Fountain of Youth was, but he was able to get them to the right place from which to begin their search.

The sun was rising over the Caribbean as the _Black Opal_ burst through the smooth silky surface of the ocean, smashing the almost perfect reflection of the sunrise. The splashing and the spluttering of the men onboard shattered the silence of the dawn. A few startled fish swam away, unsure of what was going on. The seagulls were less concerned as they wheeled in the sky, screeching in annoyance as the ship scared away the prey that they had been about to catch.

Jack sucked in a huge gulp of air; he could almost taste freedom and lawlessness. It was good to be home.

"I have to admit," said Achilles, "that I am rather...disappointed. It looks just like any other ocean."

"Disappointed?" said Jack incredulously, whipping around to train his heavily kohl-lined eyes on the burly Greek warrior. "_Disappointed_? Mate, I'm the truly disappointed one. To think that after all these years, I have yet to teach you a single thing worth knowing. Can't you smell the freedom, the endless opportunities, and...and..._Tortuga_."

"That place of filth and debauchery," muttered Legolas. "Someone up there must be finding this very funny. To go there once was bad enough. To go there twice! Now, that is unthinkable."

"Cheer up," said Elizabeth. "At least you won't have the sensitive nose to smell it this time, unlike last time. And I do believe that Mr. Gibbs' favourite wench had her eye on you the last time so maybe you can take advantage of that this time."

"And it gets worse," said the elf, rolling his eyes towards the heavens as if begging someone to deliver him from his bleak fate.

"Things have to get worse before they get better," said the female pirate calmly as she pulled out her telescope so that she could better survey their surroundings. "And believe me, Tortuga isn't the worst place that you can be. I, for one, prefer Tortuga to...say, Rome."

"Don't even mention Rome," said Balian, wincing noticeably.

* * *

They left Ragetti and Pintel behind to guard the ship as the rest of them went off to explore. Balian had offered to guard the boat, but Jack had refused to leave him behind whilst they went and explored the pleasures of Tortuga. "You ain't lived till you've seen this place, mate," the pirate had said. In the end, the knight had relented. He had been through Hell and back. How bad could a pirate island be? As it turned out, Tortuga was everything he had expected it to be, and much more.

Situated on an atoll, it was supposedly one of the last safe havens for all those who loved freedom—as in lawlessness. It was certainly one of the loudest and most lawless places he had ever seen, but on the other hand, Balian could hardly say that he had seen a happier place before either. Of course, they were all drunk too, so perhaps that drunkenness contributed to their mirth. Men were dragged through the roads behind horses, laughing as they went through puddles of sludge. Women not dissimilar to the camp followers the knight had encountered during his youth roamed the streets, searching for men who were willing, or drunk enough, to pay for a night of...well, whatever it was that drunk men and loose women did.

"Deprived is the man who has ne'er tasted the waters of Tortuga, my friends!" cried Jack.

"I can't say I recommend the water in Tortuga," said Will, "although the Two Hornpipes does serve a fair ale, as far as the price goes."

"There has not ever been a richer brew than that of the _Two Hornpipes_, except for the stuff we had in Rohan," said Jack. "Oh, and what Pippin brought me the last time he visited Minas Tirith!"

"I would not know, as you did not share," said Balian. "What I am looking forward to is a place to rest my feet and perhaps some news concerning that which we seek."

"This, my friend?" said Jack. "Wot, you think that this is your Holy Grail or something? You are quite wrong in this respect. Only a few people know about the you-know-what and I plan on keepin' it that way, savvy, so while we're here, I think we should just call it...call it..."

"Perhaps you can just call it 'it'?" said Elizabeth. "It's vague enough, even for you, Jack."

"It's a little too vague for me, darling," said Jack, unperturbed by her sarcasm. "I think we should call it...torrent of rum!"

"How are we to distinguish this torrent of rum from, say...other torrents of rum which you are bound to consume while you are here?" said Achilles.

"Because, mate, I'd never call _that_ a torrent. More like...a trickle. There is never enough rum." Jack led them to a ramshackle building. Before Balian even saw it, he could hear it, for the sounds of delighted shrieks cut through the relative quiet of the morning. It seemed that night time fun never ended for these people. No smoke came from the chimney of the inn —if it could be called that. However, it had rooms for let, and by Balian's standards, that was an inn. According to Jack, the main source of revenue for the _Two Hornpipes_ came from its 'excellent heady brews', which would definitely explain the behaviour of its patrons.

"Welcome to Hell," Legolas whispered to the Frenchman.

"Hell was cleaner," Balian whispered back. "And more orderly too."

"True," said the elf. "Alas, it might have been easier if the Fount—torrent of rum had been there."

Balian was about to answer, but when he stepped over the threshold, the only thing he could do was gape. In his day, people also got drunk in the local pubs, but they tended to remain on the floor. The patrons of the _Two Hornpipes_ were everywhere, literally. Some of them hung from the large iron chandelier whilst others sat in the rafters, seeming confused as to how they had gotten there in the first place. Mugs, plates, food, chairs, tables...everything that could be thrown was being thrown, including men...and was that a garter sailing through the air? He didn't have time to analyze it as he ducked to avoid a flying pot plant that would have otherwise split his head in two, or at least given him a rather bad case of concussion.

"This is...colourful," said Achilles at last. The Greek seemed to be at a complete loss of words, and he was notoriously difficult to impress.

"It's...loud," said Paris.

"Well, hello, handsome," said one of the barmaids when she spotted the newcomers. "What can I get you boys today?" She sent a flirtatious smile in their general direction, earning a range of glares from the womenfolk present. Then she seemed to realize that all the men had women standing beside them, except for four of them. All of a sudden, Balian wished that he had thought to bring his young wife. This was going to be difficult.

* * *

The sounds of laughter soothed him like a lullaby. Jack basked in the stuffy warmth of the room and tapped his foot in time with the beat of the fight going on in the background, complete with a cheerful musical accompaniment. This was the most welcoming sound a man could hear, as far as he was concerned. Other men might dream of families and children, and maybe the fanfare of silver trumpets, but not Jack Sparrow. He had learned long ago how fickle those things could be, but bar brawls and loud noises were constants in life. Drunken men were bound to do stupid and brilliant things. There had been a time when he, too, had craved fanfares and the admiration of respectable women, but experience had quickly cured him of such naiveté.

The pirate took another sip of his drink and grinned as he watched his friends become more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment. Legolas had been unwilling to stay any longer than he had to and had retired to their rented rooms, not that he would find much reprieve from the noise. However, at least he wouldn't have to see any of this going on. Gimli, for the most part, had been ignored by the drunken patrons, and for once, the dwarf seemed keen on keeping it that way. The others were having no such luck. Achilles had somehow gotten himself involved in the brawl after having consumed just a little bit too much alcohol, and of course the ever chivalrous knight had taken it upon himself to rescue someone who absolutely did not need any rescuing, and therefore had been drawn into the fight. Will was trying to fend off some overly enthusiastic ladies of the night, with a lot of help from his lovely wife, of course. The only reason Jack was not being troubled was because Anna-Maria was glaring at any female —and some males— who dared to come within five feet of him. She might have been a small woman, but she made up for her lack of stature with ferocity. Such a woman was rare.

"Relax, darlin', and have a drink!" he called over the din, even though she was only about a foot away from her. However, the fight was escalating. Even when drunk, Achilles was still the leader of the Myrmidon and Captain of the Elite Gondorian Royal Guard. Throw in the Lord Defender and one of the most lethal partnerships in the history of bar brawls was formed. "You never know when you're gonna get a chance to see the good Captain and the Lord Defender in a bar brawl again."

"How can ye just sit there and drink rum?" demanded Anna-Maria as slipped into the chair opposite Jack and snatched his mug of rum away from him. "In case ye don't remember, we didna leave Gondor jus' so you could come here and get drunk."

"I don't get drunk," retorted Jack. "I get suitably cheered up, savvy? Nautical term, luv. 'Sides, this place? It's bringin' up a few memories from when I was not so much older than Willie Turner. Well, maybe about eight years older, but considerin' we've got eternity ahead of us, darlin', that doesn't seem very long at all."

* * *

_The three young men laughed as they strolled across the wharf, bottles of drink in hand and with their tongues more than just a little loosened by the alcohol that they had already consumed. It was an uncharacteristically warm night, for it was not quite yet spring. The three of them had just escaped from an overcrowded ballroom, having done more than their share of bowing and dancing. The hard heels of their polised leather boots made unsteady rhythms on the wooden boards, almost as if they were playing a piece of music with no rules apart from their own. _"_Did you see that one, with the hairy upper lip?" asked the shortest of the young men. He was the oldest, but it was rather hard to tell for they were all very close in age. "She was so smitten with you, James."_

"_She was pleasant enough to talk to, if one did not focus too much on her face," said the one called James with a laugh. "I pity the poor girl, because that one is fated to be an old maid." Out of the three, he stood out the most, simply because of his much darker colouring. His roguish charm had caught the attention of many a fine lady, although he was hardly expected to make a fine marriage any time soon, unless his luck turned drastically._

"_If you pity her so much, then perhaps you should marry her and spare her that grim fate," the first man. _

"_Oh no," said James. He took another swig from his bottle. "I said I pitied her, but I'm afraid that my pity does not stretch that far. Altruism has never been one of my stronger traits." _

"_And why should our cousin deign to even think of such a creature when half the women looked as if they wanted to dance with him, and more?" said the youngest man with a laugh. He bore a startling resemblance to the one who had first spoken, and there was no mistaking that they were brothers. "Mark my words, Cutler, James will find himself a beautiful rich wife someday. His lack of inheritance will only delay him for a short while, what with all the charm he has, and then the two of us will be lucky to pick up the ones that he rejects."_

"_I have no interest in the women of England," said James with a wild wave of his hand. "They are so staid...and...and..._boring_. I want a woman who can sail the open seas with me."_

"_There you go again, dreaming of sailing the open seas," said Cutler. "Although, that dream might be easier to achieve than your other one of finding a woman who can sail the open seas with you. I overheard Father talking about how we ought to go with him on his trip to the plantations in the colonies sometime soon."_

"_The colonies?" said the youngest man. "But there is nothing there apart from savages and wild beasts!"_

"_And sugar plantations, Jonathan," said Cutler impatiently. "Where do you think all our fine things come from? Silk coats do not grow on trees, dear brother." _

"_And I heard that there are pirates there," said James. He had a strange gleam in his eye. "Ferocious pirates, fiercer than any pirate that the Old World can produce."_

"_Pirates," spat Jonathan. "No better than beasts. If it were up to me, I would make sure that they were all fed to the sharks." _

"_Well, I would not say that, brother," reasoned Cutler. "After all, pirates make for excellent treasure hunters. The pirates may be pests, but they are excellent treasure hunters. Much better than those who abide by the law, wouldn't you agree, Jack?"_

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed the chapter. This is still very much at the introductory stage.


	2. Sugar and Spice Don't Have to be Nice

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize; they all belong to someone else. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 2: Sugar and Spice Don't Have to be Nice**

In a dark corner of the _Two Hornpipes_, a man sat hunched over his tankard. No one took any notice of him, for all their attention was on the bar fight. The rim of his hat cast a shadow over his face. The only thing one could see was the gleam of the whites of his eyes as he took in every detail of what was going on around him. He was particularly interested in those who were watching the bar brawl, especially that dark man with too much kohl and the hair beads. He had a miniature portrait that had been painted long ago. The man inside the portrait had had his dark hair tied back in the manner of all naval officers, and he had neither hair beads nor gold teeth, but those devilish eyes and that bone structure was still the same. The painter had been an extremely good artist, which was to be expected. After all, he had been hired by a Beckett.

There was another person there whom he had also seen in a portrait, only in the portrait, she had been slightly more curvaceous and her hair had been carefully coiffed. Where these two were, the others were sure to be. That was what Lord Beckett had told him. The gentleman in question had also told him to be careful. These were not people who ought to be underestimated, for their ability to adapt to their circumstances and counter any threat was astounding. However, they could not possibly counter a threat that they did not know about, could they?

* * *

Legolas lay on the narrow cot, feeling a little uneasy but not knowing why. He assumed it was simply the fact that he was in Tortuga, and that he had lost his elven senses. It wasn't as if he had felt entirely comfortable ever since that fateful arrow. The sound of the brawl below were muffled by the floorboards, but even then, it was still loud. He stared at the sky through the tiny window of his room. A spider had woven its web in the corner of the window frame; testimony to how long it had been since this room had last been properly cleaned. In fact, it might not have been cleaned out since the day it had been built. Insects hung suspended on the fine gossamer threads, some already drained of their juices, others waiting to be consumed by a spider that had long since died or migrated.

Gulls wheeled in the sky above, crying mournfully. They were nothing but moving specks to the elf's greatly diminished eyesight. Legolas closed his eyes. He was tired and yet, he could not sleep. Something weighed down on him, making it difficult for him to breathe, and he knew that it wasn't just his cold. The door creaked as it was opened. Someone cursed softly and tried to tip toe in, probably thinking that the elf was asleep. However, heavy boots had never been well-suited to creeping. Legolas said so, without bothering to open his eyes.

"I thought you were asleep, laddie," said Gimli gruffly. "You probably should be sleeping."

"I know," said Legolas. "But I am not capable of doing what I ought to be doing all the time, friend Gimli."

"You seem to be pretty bad at it, actually," said the dwarf, going to sit on his cot and pulling out his pipe. "It was getting to be too wild down there for me. I thought I'd come up here for a quiet smoke, but if it bothers you...'

"No, go ahead," said Legolas. "After having spent so much time with you and Aragorn, not to mention the hobbits and Mithrandir and Jack and Barbossa, I find that I do not mind the scent of smoke so much anymore, especially since my sense of smell has now been diminished." He gave a wan smile. "Perhaps that arrow had been good for something after all."

"Don't think like that," said Gimli. The pipeweed packed in the bowl of his pipe glowed as he inhaled a mouthful of smoke. "I, for one, cannot wait until you start telling me how foul my smoke is again. 'Tis not natural for you to be so quiet about it."

"What's going on down there?" Legolas asked, changing the subject. Even now, he was still uncomfortable with talking about his ailment.

"Achilles got himself in a bar brawl, Balian joined in, and Barbossa is taking bets on who would win. Only he and Jack bet on the two lads. The rest of them bet on the mob," said the dwarf with a chuckle. "I think those two are going to walk away with a nice haul tonight and a horrible argument about how they are going to split it."

"I presume that splitting their winnings in half just won't do," said the elf.

"Of course not," said Gimli with a snort. "I doubt we'll get a wink of sleep that night, considering how loud their arguments tend to be." He stretched. "On that note, I think I might catch some sleep myself while I still can."

* * *

The message was short, succinct, and it could not have been clearer. Jack Sparrow had been sighted in Tortuga. Jonathan Beckett folded up the sheet of paper and smiled grimly. "Tell Fitzpatrick that he shall be rewarded for his diligence," he said to the redcoat who had delivered the message. The soldier bowed and then left, not really knowing what was going on and not really caring, so long as he got paid.

Beckett fiddled with the sheet of paper. "You can't escape, Jack," he murmured. In fact, he was surprised that the pirate had managed to elude him for so long. Jack had always been out of reach, but never out of sight, until a few years ago, when he had disappeared, along with all news of the _Black Pearl. _Now he had suddenly reappeared, with no clue as to where he had gone. It was all very suspicious. Then again, he couldn't remember a time when Sparrow's activities had not been suspicious, and he had known him for a while.

However, this time, he was prepared. He had sent out men everywhere to search for the elusive captain and his crew. It seemed that his efforts had paid off, for he now had quite a few pieces of information. Not about where Sparrow had disappeared off to, but what he had been searching for when he had disappeared. Now that Jack was back, Beckett was going to get more answers.

* * *

"We are wasting time here," said Balian, dabbing his split lip with a wet washcloth. He had decided that he did not like pubs in Tortuga. The patrons were so uncivilized. Jack shrugged and continued to count his winnings. There was a substantial pile of grimy coins on the table. Downstairs, many of the _Two Hornpipes_' patrons were grumbling about how the two men must have done something to help them win against the mob.

"Have a little patience, Master Knight," said Barbossa. His money was already safely stowed away in his various pockets. When it came to counting money, no one was faster than the experienced old pirate. If he hadn't been so fond of swindling people, he might have even been able to become the navy's treasurer. However, Will had known him well enough to hire a regular clerk instead. "We be enquirin' as to the whereabouts o' the Fountain. There be legends that we be unsure of, myths that have been passed through time."

"Exactly," said Paris. "Myths."

"There's always some truth behind them myths," Anamaria pointed out. "Look at the Irminsul."

"And have you found any myths pertaining to the Fountain?" asked Balian. He was losing what patience he had had in the first place. Legolas had been right. Tortuga was pretty much Hell, except without the fire and brimstone and the orderliness. Although there had been times when he had fought against certain laws, in general, he was a man who appreciated the effects of laws on society. Tortuga, however, had no law. Those with the hardest fists were the ones who dictated what should be done and what shouldn't be done.

"Well, I wasn't so much as looking for myths as looking for news of me father," Jack said with a wave of his hand. "The old bugger found the Fountain, but he won't tell me, sayin' that if I want somethin', I gotta get it meself, and always askin' if I could live with me. Of course I can! I've done it for the...well, I don't like to disclose me age, savvy?"

"I take it there is no news about your father," said Balian drily. When Jack said so much, it often meant he had nothing to say. "And I got myself into a bar brawl for nothing."

"No one said you had to go in for the Greek," said Paris, jerking his head in the direction of a sleeping Achilles. "It wasn't as if he couldn't take care of himself."

"At least the man has shown some sense of loyalty," said Briseis. "You cannot fault him for that, dear cousin, especially since you did not so much as lift a finger to help a man who is, technically, a member of your family."

"I knew better than to help someone who needed no such thing," said Paris. "And I do not owe him anything."

"Y'know," remarked Jack. "Hector's the one who got killed, but he seems to have forgiven Achilles. Just sayin'."

Paris was about to say something, no doubt awfully acerbic, but he was interrupted by a groan from the Greek in question as Achilles woke up, clutching his head. "Why do I feel as if I have been struck in the head by Ajax's hammer? I vaguely remember getting into a fight. Did I win?"

"Men," muttered Briseis as she went off in search of a brew that might help to dull her husband's headache. Sometimes, she didn't know why she bothered getting married. It was like having a very large child.

* * *

It turned out that no one had heard from Teague, not since he had left Shipwreck Cove and sailed off to God knew where. Jack scratched his chin. He'd been hoping the find the Fountain of Youth in an easy manner, by somehow persuading his father to tell him where to look, but that did not look as if it was going to work. The secondary plan was to actually sail to the coast of Florida and search that area and the ocean surrounding it, but...well, that was a lot of work, wasn't it? It was a large area, and who knew how the Fountain had been hidden? Surely such a lucrative treasure was protected by strange things that none of them had ever encountered before.

He stared at the map and tried to figure out something from all the information that they had already taken from it. He knew that the map wasn't particularly accurate —it was more like the Bayeux Tapestry than an actual map in that it told a story about things that had happened and could happen in certain places. For one, China wasn't really that big in comparison to the rest of the world, but there it was, dominating about half the map, whilst the New World was tiny.

The men were shouting as they climbed up and down the rigging. They had left Tortuga a day ago, taking advantage of the clear skies. The weather could be rather unpredictable, especially since this was hurricane season. "What happens if we do get caught in a storm?" he heard Paris ask.

"Then we weather it out," said Anamaria. The tone of her voice implied that she thought the Trojan prince was...well, mad. "It ain't as if we got any other choice when we're out in the open ocean."

"Don't worry," said Elizabeth. "We've survived so many shipwrecks already. What is a few more?"

Jack grinned; he could imagine the look on Paris' face. The Trojan prince had never really learned to deal with all their misadventures, despite his insistence that he should not be left behind simply because he was not the best warrior, or the best sailor, or the best...well, he was the best debater. That was all they could really give him.

"Has it ever crossed your mind that we might not be so lucky every time we get shipwrecked?" asked Legolas. The elf had been so testy of late. As much as they did not get on, and had never gotten on, Jack found himself missing the old sarcastic and sometimes condescending Legolas. He'd enjoyed their banters —which he'd mostly lost— and more importantly, he missed the way that the elf had been able to cheer them up and encourage them even during the direst of situations. As much as the pirate hated to admit it, they had become rather dependent on one another for support, both physical and spiritual.

"I admire your optimism, Your Highness," said Elizabeth briskly as she dumped a coil of rope into his arms. "Now, if you will be so kind as to take that down to the hold. You might be ill, but you are not so ill that you are not capable of working." Legolas stared at her retreating back, seemingly appalled at her lack of compassion and understanding. Then he smiled to himself —a wan smile, but a smile nonetheless— and shook his head before heading down below deck as Elizabeth had so nicely asked him to do.

"Have we, and by 'we, I mean 'you', made any progress yet?" said the Pirate King, coming up from behind Jack.

"Well...I was thinkin' we'd go to Shipwreck Cove, where we're most likely to find information," said Jack. "I don't like the idea o' sailin' around aimlessly and prayin' that we'd find the Fountain, not when Beckett's men are all o'er the place." Most of the time, Jack liked to exaggerate. He found it interesting to poke and prod to get reactions from the people around him. However, this time, he could only wish that he was exaggerating. From what he had heard in Tortuga, apart from all the usual gossip, was that the East India Trading Company, now under the control of Cutler Beckett's younger brother, who was no less arrogant and coldblooded, was tightening the noose. They had not touched Tortuga yet because attacking that pirate haven would mean that the pirates would unite, just as they had done last time when the older Beckett brother had tried it.

Jonathan Beckett had learned from his brother's mistakes, and now he was closing the noose ever so slowly; so slowly that the average pirate could not notice it. The merry bands of buccaneers continued to backstab, betray and, in general, fight one another, not knowing that it was Beckett who was carefully tearing them apart with his schemes. Jack knew, of course. He knew the Beckett brothers far too well not to recognize their handiwork. Jonathan had always been a believer of the 'divide and conquer' philosophy.

* * *

_James stood at the bow of the ship with his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of the sea breezes brushing his face like a lover's soft caress. He had always loved the sea. It was in his blood, he had heard some of the servants mention when he had been a young boy, not long after his mother had disappeared. The rumour was that she had run off with a young sailor who had been serving on one of his uncle's ships. Mary Beckett had never been very stable of character. James remembered very little about his mother, except for the wild light in her green eyes and the way she would tell him stories of captains of great ships who fought sea monsters and faced down pagan gods. She had often become lost in her own words, and it had been as if she had been telling the stories for her own benefit instead of for his. _

_He had never cared who her audience had been. From the very first moment he could remember, he had always loved hearing her talk. He couldn't remember her voice now, save for in his dreams, where her memory was still vivid. They were always on the beach. _

"_Dreaming again?" came a voice from behind him. James saw the younger of his two cousins picking his way between the piles of rope and crates of supplies as he came up to join him at the bow. _

"_Reminiscing," said James. "Reminiscing, Jonathan."_

"_Nautical term, am I correct?" said Jonathan Beckett. "Father said that we should see land within the next few days. The Greater Antilles lie just ahead. We should be coming up to St. Ann's Bay pretty soon." The fairer man sighed. "I, for one, am looking forward to being on land again." _

"_Still haven't got your sea legs, dear cousin?" teased James. His cousins had not adapted to life on board the ship as well as he had, although this was the first time that any of them had sailed out into open seas before. The sailors called James a natural, and they considered him to be one of them, despite the fact that he was old Lord Beckett's nephew. _

"_Not all of us were born with them, Jack," said Jonathan, punching the older man playfully in the arm. "The ocean is so wide. There is so much that we do not know about it, and I do not know what to expect each day that I am out at sea. Land is easier to predict and control." _

* * *

"Jack. Jack? I think it's time you found some place more comfortable to sleep."

"Wot?" said Jack as he lifted his head off the map —which he'd been using as a pillow. The pattern of the bamboo slats had been pressed onto his face. He winced. Will was right. There were definitely more comfortable places to sleep than on a makeshift table on the deck of the _Opal_, using a pile of bamboo for a pillow. It was a miracle that he hadn't poked an eye out.

It was night already, and the reflections of the stars winked on the silky ocean below. It was so still. Too still.

"Yes, I sense it too," said Will. "A storm is coming, although I suspect it will not simply be the weather of the world."

"It if were the weather, Whelp, we'd be able to deal with it on our own with absolutely no problem at all," said Jack, twisting his head this way and that way to try and get the cramp out of his neck muscles. "Where's everyone else?"

"Until the storm is actually a threat, I did not see the point in making them all stay up when only one man is needed to steer the ship."

"And ole _Hector_ relinquished his authority as cap'n?" asked Jack incredulously.

"I had considerable backing from various other captains, the Captain of the Elite Royal Guard, a member of the King's Inner Council and the Lord Defender," said Will with a grin. "Besides, I _am_ an admiral in my own right. I have learned a little about politics."

"And you let me _sleep_ through that? What sort of friend are you?" Jack would have given an arm, a leg and a crate of rum to see Barbossa being forced to back down. He would have laughed himself silly over it. Then again, that might have been one of the reasons Will had not woken him.

"A good sort who knows when you need your rest," replied the former captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. For a moment, Will looked as if he was going to say more, perhaps even ask some questions, but then the younger man thought better of it and turned his attention to the expanse of open sea before them again. The _Opal_ was cutting through the water smoothly, making no sound apart from a few occasional creaks as she glided across the surface like the most delicate dancer.

"Is there something that you're not telling us?" Will suddenly asked.

"I don't tell you _everything_, William," said Jack. "A man's gotta have his privacy, all right? You don't tell me everything now, do you?"

"You simply seem...troubled," said Will.

"I got the life of a friend relyin' on me and my ability to decipher this mess of a map," said Jack. "Who wouldn't be troubled?"

* * *

Lightning flashed across the darkened sky. Thunder rumbled and clashed as rain poured down upon them. Huge towering waves, as tall as the mast of the _Opal_, were tossing the ship about as if she was nothing more than a child's toy. The rain made it impossible to see anything, and he could barely hear the shouted commands of the several naval officers. Balian simply clung onto the rigging, glad that his wife and child were not on this particular misadventure. The water plastered his dark hair flat against his head and it dripped from the end of his nose. His palms burned from clinging so tightly to the rope. Whoever said that the Caribbean was warm had been lying, for the water was bitterly cold on this stormy night, and his fingers felt as if they had frozen. Then again, it might not really have been that cold, but water always made everything seem colder.

"We have no choice!" shouted Jack. "St. Ann's Bay is just over there! We must find shelter!"

"Aye!" Barbossa shouted back. He and Jack were both at the wheel, struggling to keep the ship on the right course. "I be hopin' that there be no rocks!"

Dear Lord! He didn't want to imagine what would happen if there were rocks. Luckily, Jack seemed to know this patch of ocean quite well, for the two captains managed to guide the ship safely to the shore.

They felt the _Opal_ shudder as her keel grated against land. And then the ship was still. The shaky crew picked themselves up, mostly unharmed apart from a few scratches and bruises. Balian pushed his wet hair out of his face. Maybe he needed to get himself one of those 'bandannas' too. Or maybe a turban. Or he could just shave his hair off, except that would be too drastic. The rain had abated a bit by then, although the ocean was still too turbulent. He shielded his eyes from the rain and took in his surroundings. There was a long stretch of pale beach being pummelled by the waves. Lights flickered in the distance. So this was not some uninhabited desert island. That was a good thing. Tall palm trees waved in the wind and occasionally, large round projectiles, otherwise known as coconuts, would drop from the tops of the trees. He knew how dangerous those could be.

As he followed the rest of the crew down the gang plank, he noticed that Anamaria was still standing at the bow; she had made no move to get off the ship. Jack seemed to have noticed it too. Well, it was expected. In fact, they had all been wondering when the eccentric pirate would make his move and ask her to marry him. Knowing Jack, it would probably be never. He still viewed marriage as something that would cage him.

"Ana, luv," said Jack. "What's wrong?"

"I know this place," said the female pirate softly.

"Luv, this is the Greater Antilles. Any sailor worth his or her salt knows it."

"No, Jack," said the woman. Balian could not ever remember seeing her so vulnerable before. "I have been here, a long time ago. I was born on this island."

* * *

The harsh conditions of the sugar plantations, the insults and whips of the slave drivers, the hungry nights, her mother's hushed whispers; these were her memories of this place, and very few of them were pleasant. She remembered those times when her hands had been swollen from stripping leaves off sugar cane plants. Even now, she subconsciously rubbed her hands.

"It's gonna be different this time, luv," said Jack, breaking through her thoughts. "Yer a free woman now, Anamaria. Yer a captain in the Gondorian Royal Navy. No one's gonna make you do somethin' that you don't wAna do."

"It was hell," whispered Anamaria, turning around to look at Jack with narrowed eyes as the rain pelted down on her face. She hadn't even realized that Jack had taken off his jacket and had now draped it over her shoulders.

"I know," said Jack. "I saw with me own eyes what happened on them sugar plantations." There was a hard edge to the pirate's voice; something that she did not often hear, and she thought she knew Jack Sparrow quite well. Well, as well as anyone could know Jack Sparrow.

"I don't want to be here," said Anamaria. She knew she was being childish and irrational, but she could not help it. There were not many things that she feared in this world, but this place held most of her fears. The shadows of the palm trees looked like claws reaching out to grab her in the gloom, to trap her in a tiny space with only a breathing hole and no light. No matter how much she had screamed, no one had come. No one had cared...

"Ana, look at me," said Jack firmly. For once, he was entirely serious. There was something in his voice that commanded obedience. She did as she was told and stared into those dark, kohl-lined eyes. "I promise you that nothing will happen to you when you step onto this island, all right?"

"I got your word?"

"You've got me word, luv." He flashed her a brilliant grin. Well, she didn't really see it, but she could hear it in his voice, and for some strange reason, she felt comforted. She wasn't helpless this time, and she certainly wasn't alone.

"Jack, do you really think this is a good idea?" Will murmured once Jack was close enough to hear him.

"Why wouldn't it be a good idea?" asked Jack.

The younger man didn't say anything. Instead, he pointed to a dock in the near distance and handed Jack a telescope. The pirate put the telescope to his eye, all the while wondering where the Whelp had gotten such a nice big telescope. "So what? It's just the East India Trading Company," said Jack as he peered through the smaller lens at one of the fluttering flags. "We've dealt with them before."

"I'm not sure what you are trying to achieve, Jack," said Will as he snatched back his telescope, "but from where I stand, it looks as if you are trying to get us all killed."

"William, it's just one night. Just one," said Jack, putting an arm around his friend's shoulder. "You and I both know that it ain't safe to sail until the storm passes. What harm can possibly come of one measly night? Besides, they don't know we're here, and what they don't know won't harm us, savvy?"

* * *

It was most interesting and fortuitous. Jack Sparrow was on the same island as he was. Jonathan Beckett stirred sugar into his tea and then took a sip, never taking his gaze away from his window or, rather, what was outside his window. It was difficult to see things very clearly in the rain, but his men had given him reports with enough detail for him to put all the pieces together. Jack Sparrow had been asking questions about Teague Sparrow. Why the younger Sparrow had been looking for the older Sparrow was still a mystery, but Jonathan was quite certain that he knew enough to guess.

The rain continued to hit the glass of the window. Rivulets of water ran down to merge with other rivulets. The sound of water hitting glass created a quiet irregular sort of music which Beckett did not enjoy, but had learned to tolerate. After all, this was like a milder version of the drums of those primitive pagan tribes that lived on these islands.

There had been stories about a map belonging to the Pirate Lord of Singapore that had details concerning every treasure worth looking for in this world, and perhaps in places beyond the boundaries of this world. Beckett might not have seen the map, but he had heard enough about it to know of some of the treasures it was supposed to lead to. Will Turner had told the older Beckett brother a little about the map during his short time as a spy for the East India Trading Company, and the map featured quite a bit in the tales of those flea-infested pirates.

Immortality. It sounded like just the thing Jack Sparrow would go for. His dreams had always been too big for him. And now, both pirate and map were within Beckett's grasp. Jack's dreams might be too big for him, but they certainly weren't too big for a Beckett with a navy at his disposal and thousands of pounds to spend.

The tea, freshly brewed, was hot and sweet, just the way he liked it.

* * *

**A/N: **Still the exposition. Bear with me.


	3. Slaves to the Past

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Missiworld: **Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. Writing fanfiction has really helped me to develop as a writer, thanks to all the helpful advice that I get from fellow writers/readers.

**Chapter 3: Slaves to the Past**

John Fitzpatrick was not a civilized man. However, he had been hired for his resourcefulness and efficiency, not his etiquette. He blew on his tea, ignoring the disdainful look from Beckett. The mercenary operated on his own terms. "I want Sparrow, I want Turner, I want Elizabeth Swann, and I want that map," he said. "The others...do with them what you will."

"Those three are hard to capture," said Fitzpatrick, taking a slurp of his tea before adding yet another cube of sugar. "I might have to reconsider my price."

"I pay enough," snapped Beckett, "and if you are not content with that, then there is always someone else who will be happy to take over."

"Of course there is," said Fitzpatrick, completely unperturbed. He propped up his booted feet on the table. "I just wonder if another man can deliver your wares to you the way you want them."

Outside, the wind howled and rain splattered against the shuttered windows. The storm was still going strong. Jack Sparrow and his crew of miscreants would not be going anywhere tonight.

Jonathan Beckett considered having Fitzpatrick killed there and then. He certainly had the manpower. Surely another man could accomplish the task? However, Fitzpatrick and Sparrow shared a trait; they could both look Death in the eye and win the staring contest. There was always the chance that Fitzpatrick could escape his men, and then he might even sell whatever it was he knew to Sparrow. The mercenary took no sides. Cutler had warned him about that.

"I need air," said Jonathan. He turned on his heel sharply and strode through the door. His footsteps made a steady rhythm as he marched through the winding corridors of the fort and up a narrow set of stairs until he came to a heavy wooden door. He knocked on it three times. Once long, and twice short.

"Come in," said a voice. "I was wondering when you would need me." Jonathan slipped inside the darkened suite, lit only by a few flickering candles. The walls were covered in paintings, portraits, mostly, of various members of the Beckett family. Above the mantelpiece, in a place of prominence, was a particularly large painting of Lord Cutler Beckett, who had, until that fateful encounter with demonic pirates, been in charge of the East India Trading Company.

"I always need you, brother," said Jonathan as he closed the door behind him. There were no mirrors in the room, in stark contrast to the way Cutler had lived before the _Endeavour_ had been blasted into smithereens. Cutler had always considered himself to be a well-formed man. However, the incident involving a certain pirate and his associates had left him disfigured and bitter. The man himself was standing with his back to the door, facing a large map of the world that had been painted onto the wall. He turned painfully, relying on a cane of ebony to support his full weight. He limped over to one of the velvet chairs and then fell into it. This was all that remained of the once proud Lord Cutler Beckett. No one even knew he was alive, apart from Jonathan, and he wanted it to remain that way. After the fateful battle, Jonathan had hidden his brother away and told the rest of the world that he had died of his wounds, and a grand, but empty coffin had been entombed in their family's crypt. "Fitzpatrick is giving me trouble."

"Fitzpatrick is _always_ giving someone trouble," said Cutler with a wave of his hand. "That is what he does best, and that is why I hired him so many times."

"He wants to raise the price," said Jonathan, sitting down opposite his brother. In the dim light, the rough scar tissue on the other man's face was even more pronounced. Fiercely intelligent blue eyes stared back at Jonathan from amidst that ruin of a face.

"So he has learned of his worth, has he?" said Cutler. "He never dared to haggle with me, knowing that I could have him killed with merely a flick of my hand. Of course, I had Mercer then, and unfortunately, he got his brains scrambled by the beard of a man who resembled an octopus. Never haggle with the metaphysical, Jonathan. You will only burn yourself."

"But isn't that exactly what we are trying to do here, Cutler?" said Jonathan.

"We are harnessing the metaphysical, dear little brother," said the older Beckett. "Once we do, we will become one with it, and it can no longer harm us. And then the entire world will be within our grasp, because we will have eternity to control it. Unfortunately, a pesky little bird stands in our way. If he finds it first, who knows what could happen?"

"He won't find it," said Jonathan with a smirk. "Sparrow was never made for success."

"Be as it may, he is a threat," said Cutler. "Agree to Fitzpatrick's demands, but only give him half the money. Tell him that the other half will be given to him upon the capture of Jack Sparrow, William Turner and Elizabeth Swann. And the map, of course. They will all be useless without the map. And then...well, you know what to do."

* * *

They crept into the settlement of St. Ann's Bay with nary a sound. Well, almost none. It was impossible to suppress all sneezes. The paving stones on the streets were slick with mud and riddled with puddles. Lights shone in the windows of the tidy wooden houses; more like shacks, really.

"Is there an inn anywhere?" whispered Will.

"Of course there'll be an inn," Jack whispered back. He had his arm around Anamaria's shoulders, protecting her from more than just the cold. Will did not know what was going on with the usually stalwart woman, but whatever it was, it seemed private, and he did not think it appropriate to ask. "Where do you think the locals get their drinks, eh?"

"I don't think we should stay at an inn," said Elizabeth, who had overheard the conversation between the two men. "The royal navy has great presence here, and we are very obviously not the proper sort of folk that proper innkeepers would want in their establishments. And you are a wanted man, Jack Sparrow, don't forget."

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow, if you please," said Jack. "I am the captain of a ship, after all, and appointed by the High King of Gondor and Arnor, savvy?"

"Yes, yes," said Elizabeth impatiently. "My point, Jack, is that they will be actively searching for you, and possibly all of us. Me, at least. I _am_ the Pirate King."

"Pardon me for interrupting," said Paris. "But should we be worried that we are associated with you when you are wanted men, and women?"

"Yes," said Will.

"No," said Jack at exactly the same time. "Oh, stop your fretting, William. The East India Trading Company has bigger concerns than you. You need to keep that ego in check, boy."

Well, at least he was 'William', and not 'Whelp'. That had to be an improvement. Will decided not to remind Jack that he was definitely not a boy anymore. He would take what he could get, and it was best not to push Jack too far, lest he come up with another eunuch joke. The rain continued to pour down at a steady rate. Water ran down Will's face and his eyes were almost shut. What a merry bunch of fools they looked, all following Jack through the seemingly abandoned town in search of shelter. At the moment, he would settle for a stable, or even just a tree —with no coconuts, of course.

Lightning flashed. In the near distance, there was a crash as a tree got struck down by lightning. Will quickly changed his mind about trees. He wanted a roof, not an improvised grave. He glanced back at the others. It was lucky that the weather was not too cold, because he doubted that Legolas, being newly susceptible to illnesses, would have been able to deal with the soaking very well. The elf looked rather miserable and bedraggled for a change, and that in itself was unnerving, even if there hadn't been the shadow of Jonathan Beckett looming over them.

"At least we're not going to die of thirst," muttered Gimli. "And my mail is really going to rust."

"Perhaps that ought to teach you not to wear mail at all times," said Legolas, trying to sound more cheerful than he really was.

"Hah! I learned nothing, except that maybe one should never take Jack Sparrow's word by face value."

"Oi! I heard that," said Jack. "And why shouldn't you trust me? I found us an inn, didn't I?"

They all glanced at the building he was pointing at. There was a sign hanging above the door. It was too dark to read the lettering, but Will could make out the image of a tankard, supposedly of beer.

"I still think we should find shelter elsewhere, not in a town," said Elizabeth. She looked adamant about not entering the inn, despite the fact that she was shivering. Will held her close to him to try and warm her up, but he wasn't exactly a great heat source at the moment.

"If you want to freeze, it ain't up to me, luv," said Jack, "but I am gonna go and get meself and Ana a nice room wif a bed—two beds." The hinges of the door creaked as Jack pushed it open. Mellow yellow light flooded out, illuminating the quickly falling droplets of water.

"Come on," said Will, ushering Elizabeth in before she could say anything. He knew he would never hear the end of it later, for Elizabeth was the type of woman who did not believe that a wife ought to obey her husband —in fact, there were times when Will thought she believed in the exact opposite. However, his greatest concern right now was her welfare. The others followed, stumbling into the warmth and relative dryness of the inn.

The room was comfortably large and filled with empty tables and chairs. This was obviously where the guests took their meals. "Can I help ye?" said the innkeeper. He was an impressive man, with broad shoulders and was easily the same height as Achilles. However, the resemblance ended there, for he also sported a generous belly, and a full steel-grey moustache. As he approached them, Will realized that the man's loud and uneven footsteps were caused by a wooden leg. Suddenly, the man stopped as he saw Jack, and he frowned.

"Mary, Mother of God!" he cried. "Master James!"

"Pardon me?" said Jack, looking genuinely confused. Will had never seen that expression on Jack's face before. The pirate was more likely to hide confusion, or give others condescending confused looks.

"Come now, Master James," said the innkeeper. "Don't you remember ole Gilly?"

"Cuthbert Gill?" said Jack incredulously. "You old fish! You're still alive? I thought you'd be in the locker by now, or somethin'."

"Hah! Ole Gilly don't drown. Ne'er thought I'd become a landlubber, though," said the man, rubbing his face with a large hand.

"Jack?" said Will. "Is there something you need to tell us?"

'Gilly' was about to say something, but Jack cut him off before he could. "We once served on the same ship together, back when I still hadn't gotten me first ship yet," he said very quickly. Will narrowed his eyes. There was definitely something that Jack needed to tell them, even though the pirate might not think so. Will Turner did not like being kept in the dark. No matter what it took, he would make the sparrow sing.

"Aye," said Gill, who was obviously not the sharpest nail in the barrel. "That'd be it. Now, ye lookin' for rooms, are ye?"

"That be correct," said Barbossa. "And we be needin' hot food and drink as well."

"Well, you've come to the right place," said Gill as he indicated the empty tables. "You're lucky there ain't no officers here tonight, not that there are usually that many. Mine is a fine establishment, but I ain't got no pretty barmaids to keep 'em happy. Now, you make yerselves comfortable while I get the missus." With that, he limped off, calling loudly for his wife.

Will lowered himself into one of the wooden chairs. He kept on glancing about him, as if he expected someone to be lying in wait in this little inn. There was no particular reason for his wariness—all right; maybe having a Beckett at such close proximity was making him more nervous than usual. He just had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was going to happen. Now, he was no elf, and unlike Legolas, his premonitions might or might not be true. Still, this could be considered hostile territory, and one could never be too careful, right?

He spared a glance at Jack. The pirate seemed completely at ease; then again, Jack was rather good at fooling people. The more he came to know Jack Sparrow, the more he realized just how much he didn't know about this eccentric pirate lord. In fact, how did Jack become a pirate lord in the first place? He did not seem to be the ideal candidate. 'Too nice.' That was what Barbossa had said of him once. One did not get to where Jack Sparrow was by being 'nice'. For a pirate, that was basically an insult.

There were times when Jack let down his guard and betrayed bits of his true nature. He was eccentric and mad because he chose to be. The more he thought about it, the more William Turner began to suspect that his friend was hiding something.

Gill returned with his wife in tow. In striking contrast to her husband, Mrs. Cuthbert Gill was a small wiry woman with a hard face and a soft voice. She greeted them quietly, and then promptly went back to the kitchen to prepare something for the late night guests. Soon she came back out again, bearing bowls of steaming chowder on a large tray. The smell reminded Will of how hungry he was, and how long it had been since he had last had a proper meal —sea tack did not count, and no one onboard the _Opal_ had been a good cook.

"It's nothing much," said the innkeeper's wife as she set out the bowls before them.

"You are very kind," said Elizabeth. Once a governor's daughter, always a governor's daughter. While she had her moments, she was never one to forget basic manners. "I hope we have not troubled you too much."

"Of course not," said the older woman. Her face remained solemn, and no smile graced her lips. She seemed to be the dourest person Will had ever seen. Perhaps that was why Gill had married her. They were complete opposites.

The chowder was thick with bits of fish and clam. Fragrant steam rose from the bowls. He was about to spoon some of the soup into his mouth, but something made him hesitate. He wasn't sure why at first, but then he realized that it was because they were being watched, and quite openly so. Cuthbert and his wife stood to the side of the room. He was chatting amiably with Jack, who was praising the stew, whilst she was wiping down some of the other already clean tables. It all seemed very normal, except for that very small voice telling Will that he ought to be careful. Maybe he was being paranoid; maybe he wasn't. All of a sudden, he did not feel so hungry anymore, although out of courtesy to their hosts, he had a mouthful, sang the cook's praises and then pretended to eat throughout the rest of the meal, all the while dropping the food into the handkerchief he was using as a napkin and then tucking it away into one of his coat's many pockets.

* * *

His eyes wouldn't keep open. Perhaps he was more tired than he had thought. Legolas pushed his half finished bowl of stew away from him. "I must apologize," he said. "I seem to be falling asleep at the table." If he had been his usual self, this would not have happened. Legolas Thranduilion had never been too tired in his life prior to that fateful arrow.

"Well, you have been through quite an ordeal," said Cuthbert. "I'd say that a night of sleep will fix you up. Here. Why don't I take you up to a room?"

"You are most kind," said Legolas. It really was quite fortunate that Jack had come across an old acquaintance who just happened to be an innkeeper. He didn't know what they might have done if they hadn't come across Cuthbert Gill. Perhaps they would have had to spend the night onboard the _Opal_, wondering if the anchor rope was going to break or not during the storm. Or, perhaps, they would have already been caught by Jonathan Beckett.

He followed Cuthbert up a narrow staircase to the second floor of the building, where most of the rooms were situated. There were a few on the third floor as well, but apparently, those were for the guests who could not afford to pay as much. They were not paying for their stay here. Balian had tried, but the innkeeper had adamantly refused, saying that he could not possibly charge the friends of 'Master James' for staying at his inn.

The innkeeper opened the door to a simple, but comfortable room which had two beds with a chest at the foot of each, and two washstands. Clean towels had been set out, and also jugs of fresh water for washing.

"I hope this will be enough," said Cuthbert. Legolas smiled.

"It will more than suffice," he said. "I thank you for taking the trouble."

"It was no trouble at all," said the innkeeper. "I'll leave you to it, sir. Good night."

"And good night to you too," said the elven prince. He closed the door and sat down on one of the beds, too tired to wash or even take off his boots. A little dirt never hurt anyone. He heard the innkeeper's uneven footsteps fading. Before he knew it, sleep had taken him.

* * *

One by one, they all excused themselves on account of fatigue. Will was surprised. They were all tired, yes, but surely not that tired? It was not like Gimli not to finish his food, for instance. Legolas, he could understand. The elf needed a lot of rest these days. But Achilles? And Jack? All right, so Jack had been rather tired of late as well, having spent so much time studying the map. And Barbossa was getting on in his years. However, the others were in their prime, and while he was tired, he was not quite tired enough to fall asleep at the table.

His suspicions were aroused. Will feigned tiredness and together with the others —who were not feigning their fatigue— traipsed up the stairs to their respective rooms. So far, there seemed to be no sign of danger, but danger came in many forms. The most lethal sorts of threat were the ones that could not be detected. Will lay awake, fighting the urge to sleep. Elizabeth lay curled up beside him underneath the blanket, her chest rising and falling evenly as she slept a deep dreamless sleep. It wasn't like her to not dream. She usually woke him up at least once a night when she lashed out in her dreams or screamed or shouted. There was something very strange about this whole business.

Outside, the rain continued to pour down. The rhythm of the raindrops as they splattered against the roof and shutters was sleep inducing. Will got up and splashed water onto his face to keep himself awake. Someone had to remain alert through all this, and seeing as he was the only one capable of remaining conscious, he had to be it.

Voices filtered up from below. He recognized Gill and his wife's tones, and then someone else he didn't know. They seemed to be arguing —no, _haggling_— about something. He heard the word 'pirate', and suddenly, everything became very clear. There had been an ambush, and they had been set up. Unfortunately, they had fallen right into the trap. Barbossa was right. Jack really was too nice and trusting.

"Elizabeth!" he hissed. Elizabeth mumbled something in her sleep, but did not wake. "Come on!" Driven to the end of his wits, he grabbed what remained of the jug of washing water and then splashed her with it. She was up in an instant, ready to shout and groping for her sword at the same time. He clapped his hand over her mouth. "We have to go, now. Wake the others."

"What is going on?" she whispered in the darkness.

"There's no time," he replied. "Just trust me." He went over to the other bed in the room, where Achilles and Briseis were. It would be most unwise to shake Achilles awake, since the last person who had tried that —Jack— had nearly been beheaded. He threw a pillow at the Greek warrior. It struck the man in the face. There was the ring of metal. Light reflected dully off the warriors sword and flashed once as Achilles sat up and unsheathed his weapon in one swift movement, ready to massacre anyone who had been stupid enough to attack him. Then he groaned and clutched his head the way he usually did when he woke up after a night of hard drinking, except he hadn't consumed any liquor since that fateful and embarrassing game of Liar's Dice with Paris.

"We have to go," repeated Will. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," said Achilles. "Just give me a moment."

"I'll go get the others," said Elizabeth. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and then she almost stumbled and fell. Actually, she would have if Will had not caught her in time. She leaned against him. "What...?"

"The stew," said Will suddenly. "It must have been laced with something. I did not eat much, therefore I am not so affected."

"Well, that's just great, isn't it?" muttered Elizabeth. "What is going on anyway?"

"I heard someone haggling about pirates," said Will grimly. "That should be obvious enough."

Achilles was attempting to shake Briseis awake, but the woman simply would not, or could not wake. They were running out of time. Will did not know when Gill planned to strike, but it could not be long now. He glanced down at his wife in his arms. He didn't want to leave her, even if he was only going to alert the others, but at the moment, taking her with him would only slow him down.

"What are you waiting for?" Elizabeth hissed. "I'm fine! Go wake the others. Oh, and if Jack's got any rum, I think I want some."

"I don't think rum is what you need at the moment, Mrs. Turner," said Will as he gently set her down on the bed again. She gave him a shove.

"Go!" she said. "And you'd better come back quickly."

* * *

As they ran through the streets after having escaped the inn through one of the back doors, one question kept on repeating itself in Jack's mind. _Why? _'All men bow to the power of greed in the end,' he reminded himself. He'd seen _that_ all before. Many of those so called 'respectable folk' only put on the veneer of respectability; they simpered in front of all the right people and spat on those who were lesser than them, in a discreet way, of course. Honour was a rare thing in civilized society. Gill had been an honest man, back in the day. He'd been a man whom Jack had been able to call a friend. And now, he had turned into this. At least a pirate would be upfront about being a backstabbing traitor.

The rain almost blinded him. He stumbled on, relying on his memory. He knew St. Ann's Bay well enough. In fact, if someone asked him, even now, where he had once hidden a barrel of fine vintage, back in the day when he preferred wine to rum, he would be able to lead them to it whilst blindfolded. Not that he would ever share the location of that barrel with anyone.

"We're almost at the ship!" he hollered, just as thunder rumbled in the sky.

"I hope there's not an ambush there!" Will shouted in reply, fighting to be heard above the howling of the wind.

"Only madmen would dare to come out in such a storm, much less sail!" Jack shouted. "Of course, many think I'm mad already! Might as well prove their point!" He risked one last look back at the town. It had once held so much promise for him. Now all he could see were shattered friendships and bitter regrets. Well, scrap the regrets. He didn't regret the path he had chosen. If anyone ought to have regrets, then it was Jonathan Beckett. He was going to wish that he had never meddled in the business of one of the greatest pirates the world had ever known.

* * *

_The sea glittered like the most precious of gems. There was no greater treasure, as far as James was concerned. He loved the smell of brine, the taste of salt on his lips, the mournful wails of the seagulls. The warm winds were welcoming. The breezes whispered to him, welcoming him home. He belonged here in this land of golden sand, strange palm trees and clear blue water. He might have been born in England, but the Caribbean was where he was meant to be. He let the waves lap his ankles as he walked along the beach with his boots dangling from his hand. It was good to be free. _

"_Master James!" He turned to see one of his uncle's sailors striding towards him. Gilly, everyone called him. He was a good sailor, and apparently, had survived so many shipwrecks that people whispered he had the blood of the legendary mermen in his veins. James had always wanted to see one of the ocean people, but so far, he had had no such luck. "Lord Beckett requests your presence."_

_James hastened towards the plantation, where he, his uncle and his two cousins were living for the duration of their stay in the Caribbean. So far, no one knew when they would be returning to England, and there was talk of the old lord wanting to leave one of the young men behind to oversee the plantations. He passed row upon row of sugarcanes. They made him feel as if he was an ant navigating his way through a giant's lawn. He ignored the slaves. They were merely tools to be used for harvesting the sweet gold that was sugar, and completely beneath his notice. _

_The manor was a little piece of England in this foreign land. The bricks had been made locally, but everything else had been imported from England, including the sixty three doors that the house had. It was a modest house, by the Becketts' standards. The servants bowed as James passed them, still barefoot. His uncle was in the garden, which looked as if it had been transplanted from England. From what James knew, there were sixteen gardeners maintaining it, not to mention yet another batch of slaves. _

"_You sent for me, uncle?" asked the young man. _

_Lord John Beckett looked up from the waxy petals of the camellia he was admiring. "Ah, James!" he said. "Come, come. Let us sit in the pavilion, where there is shade from this godforsaken heat. And do put on your shoes, my boy. It is common to walk about barefoot. Yes, yes. I have business to discuss with you."_

"_Business, sir?" said James, unable to stop the pitch of his voice from rising just a bit from excitement. At last! He would have a chance to prove himself, and probably before either of his cousins! He certainly had not heard of his uncle speaking to them on such matters, and he knew all the gossip that was worth knowing; after all, he had befriended all the right servants. _

_Tea and cakes had been set out on the stone table in the middle of the pavilion. There were even servants —slaves imported from Africa— waving giant fans to ward off the heat. _

"_There is a shipment of slaves coming in, and we need more workers," said John Beckett as he sat down. "Tea?" _

_James accepted a cup of tea, and sipped it as he listened to his uncle's proposal. "You want me to go in your stead to select slaves?" said the young man when his uncle had finished outlining what this proposal was. "You trust my judgement?" _

"_Of course," said John. He sighed. "I love my sons, but I fear that they are not as you are, James. I have watched you these past few days. You belong here, in these climes. I am an old man, and when I die, all this—" He indicated the plantation with his spoon. "I want it to go to someone who will know how to look after it. Cutler has a good business mind, but his strength lies in trade, not production. Jonathan wants to prove himself, but everything he does has more show than substance. You have a good head on your shoulders, James."_

"_You want to give this all to me?" whispered James. He could hardly believe his good fortune. He looked around at the plantation. Yes, he could live with this. By rights, he was not entitled to anything, being John's sister's illegitimate son. Indeed, everyone, including him, had expected him to join the navy after his uncle's death and eke out a living by selling his sword. _

"_Why not?" said his uncle. "You are of my blood, and I loved my sister dearly. Of course, you will have to prove that you are capable of running this place first, which is why I am sending you to choose the slaves. It is important to know how to select the best ones." _

"_I'll not fail you, sir," said James. "I promise that I will not fail."_

* * *

**A/N: **I realize that this is becoming Jack's story. I suppose it is time that he got to tell us what he's all about. I hope you enjoyed it. I had a bit of a block this week, plus two essays. Not cool.


	4. Round and Round in Triangles

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize. They all belong to their respective owners. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them after I'm done, savvy? **

**HuguenotDescendant: **No, I haven't read the Jack Sparrow books. I might have to check them out. I actually kinda like Cutler Beckett, as a character. Tom Hollander played him brilliantly.

**Chapter 4: Round and Round in Triangles**

_The sounds and smells of the slave auctions were overwhelming. The stench of humanity, the wails of despair, the shouts of the auctioneers; they all mixed and mingled and became a heady brew. James hardly knew where to look first. He had thought that the ballrooms in England had been crowded, but they were nothing compared to the pens that housed the poor wretches. They looked at him with spiritless bloodshot eyes as he passed, their faces gaunt with hunger. Some of the slaves had charred and blistered lips from when their keepers had forced them to open their mouths to eat when they had hoped to starve themselves to death. _

'_They're not people,' he kept on trying to tell himself, but it was no use. Those eyes, and the way they looked at him, the way they envied the simple right of being able to go where he pleased—that was forever seared in his mind. James loved his freedom; he couldn't imagine living without it. That would be worse than death. 'Stay focused,' he told himself. He needed to be able to do this. He had to prove to his uncle that he was worthy of inheriting the plantation. James covered his nose with his handkerchief to try and lessen the smell, but it was no use. And it wasn't the smell that disgusted him the most. It was the state that these people —yes, _people—_ were in. How could anyone do this to another man, and even worse, women and children? He saw young ones who could not be older than ten secluded off in a pen all of their own. Some of the younger children were crying, but most of them sat so still that it looked as if they were already dead. Perhaps they had died, in a manner. _

_The auctions were starting. They were selling ladies' maids at the moment. One of the keepers led a young girl, no more than ten, onto the auction dock. This one was feisty; she fought and cried and screamed all the way, reaching out for a woman who was screaming just as loudly. James presumed that they were mother and daughter, due to the family resemblance, although, truth be told, he could hardly tell one negro from another. They were all...the same. But something about that girl made him look at her twice. He didn't need a lady's maid; there was no lady to serve on the plantation. What he needed were strong labourers. However, he found himself bidding for her, much to his men's amusement. _

"_I suppose she'd make a nice plaything when she grows a bit," said one of them. Mercer was his name, and James disliked him a lot. He found him to be awfully crass and uncultured. However, he was also one of his uncle's trusted men, simply because he did things very efficiently. Rumour had it that he had been a pirate before he had betrayed his own captain and shipmates and bought clemency. James pressed his lips together and did not reply. Such a comment did not warrant a response. _

"_One hundred and fifty pounds from the gentleman at the back!" cried the auctioneer. "Any more bids? She's a skilled girl, a bit feisty, but nothing that a switch can't tame..." They all knew that it wasn't true. The girl still hadn't stopped fighting, even though her wrists had been rubbed raw from the way she was pulling at her bonds. They had forced a muzzle on her in an attempt to silence her, but that hadn't stopped her at all. James won the auction._

"_Careful with this one," her handler said to him as he handed over the girl's leash. "She'll run off the minute you look the other way." _

* * *

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the ship for just a moment. "Everyone onboard!" cried Jack. The tide was high, and the waves were buffeting the bay, reminding him of the tournaments that took place in Minas Tirith every spring. The fighters had rained blows like that down upon one another, although this was on a much grander scale. Calypso never did things halfway. The sound of their pursuers were drowned out by the howling of the wind. The anchor was raised. Waves tossed the _Opal_ about as if she was nothing but a toy, which she wasn't, but that hardly mattered. Men clung grimly onto the rigging, the rails, the mast as the ship headed out to open seas with the wind and waves battering it from every direction.

"Is everyone all right?" he heard Will shout.

"Fine!" came the reply, as if there could be any other variation. If there was one thing Jack had learned about these men —these warrior types— was that they were never not fine, at least according to them. It was probably perfunctory for Will to ask that question.

Jack had sailed through many storms in his life, sometimes successfully, and other times...not. As time went on, he had to say that this was one of the worse storms he had ever encountered, almost comparable to the one that James Norrington had tried to sail through and failed. The pirate hung on grimly to the steering wheel, trying to keep the ship on course whilst trying to keep her from capsizing. The only thing that comforted him was the thought that should they be shipwrecked, they could always rely on a certain Captain Assaracus to rescue them. It would be rather embarrassing, of course, but that was what friends were for, right? Not that he would ever admit to being frightened of a mere storm. Oh no; Jack Sparrow had faced much worse things than just the weather.

* * *

Dawn, A battered vessel floated on the now serene ocean, drifting tiredly; limping, almost. Tattered sails fluttered in the breeze, and its exhausted crew were doing their best to guide it to a safe harbour where they could make repairs.

"We should be almost at Shipwreck Cove," said Will, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

"The name does not comfort me at all," Paris replied. "You pirates are really quite morbid people."

"Not morbid, Prince Paris," said Barbossa. "We be literal. Shipwreck Cove be full o' wrecked ships."

"And that is supposed to make me feel better, how?" said the Trojan.

"Well, if we do get wrecked, at least we won't be alone," said Achilles. "And unlike those poor unfortunates, we at least have someone on the other side who should really be appearing about now to help us."

"Hector is the steward of the entire ocean, not just the Caribbean," snapped Paris. "He's got more on his mind than just a couple of friends who cannot for the life of them keep out of trouble."

"I think it was Hector's brother who brought all his troubles on him," said the Greek, earning himself another scathing glare. He shrugged it off. This was normal, between him and Paris. It was always good to know that some things remained the same, no matter how dire the circumstances were or which world they were in. He and Paris probably would never like each other, but he could not deny that they would care if one of them should end up dead. Or something.

"Oh, would you two grow up?" said Briseis. The look she gave them could have made entire forests wither. Her hair was stiff with dried salt, but somehow, she still managed to look as if she were a queen of some sort, and if not a queen, then at least a woman of rank who could make men obey her. Of course, that was exactly what she was, and that was exactly why Achilles loved her so. He was rather partial to a woman with fire; Briseis had plenty of that.

"We are merely trying to alleviate the sense of doom, dear cousin," said Paris. "Surely you will not begrudge us a little banter?"

"You are trying to alleviate a sense of doom by speaking in detail of how our cousin, who now dwells in the afterlife, can rescue us?" said Briseis, arching an eyebrow.

"At least there is _someone_ to rescue us," said Will. "Look on the bright side. We'll be safe soon enough. I think I see the island."

"And I think I see the shipwrecks," said Balian, who was peering over the side of the ship.

"How delightful," said Jack. "Can't you focus on something else, say...how pretty the sky is?"

"Now, Jack, I must balance out your cheerful observations with my morbid ones," said the Frenchman. "It's all about balance." A wry grin spread over his tired face. "At least I did not point out how close you came to hitting a rock."

"I liked you better before you married that smart wife of yours," the pirate pointed out. "She taught you all those smart comebacks."

"Come, now, Jack," said Balian. "Do not deny it any longer. I have always had a sharp wit and tongue, only I've never wielded them before."

"Have you even consummated your marriage yet?" asked Jack with a smug grin. What he had not expected was for the knight to return said smug grin.

"You did?" said Legolas. That was the first time he had spoken ever since they had left St. Ann's Bay. Perhaps the news was simply too shocking; it had even jolted the elf out of what seemed to be a vow of silence. "But...she _screamed_ on your wedding night."

"Things have changed since then," said Balian. "She wanted us to be truly married, and I did not disagree, and Jack, if I were you, I'd pay more attention to my steering. You're going to sail us straight into that jagged rock."

A string of curse poured from Jack's mouth made even a seasoned soldier such as Achilles of Epirus wince. The pirate never failed to surprise him, like just then; Jack would usually never make a mistake that Balian would be able to point out, at least not where ships were concerned. He supposed that the news about the knight and Lady Agnes really was quite shocking, but really, there was no time to dwell on it, and if one really thought about it, Agnes _was_ a woman who was just coming into her prime.

The cliffs of Shipwreck Cove loomed before them, dark and forbidding. Jack and Barbossa slowly guided them through the labyrinth of rock that surrounded the island. No one said anything, except for Gimli muttering something about a place called Emyn Muil. The smooth granite walls and the hidden traps made the island a natural fortress that reminded Achilles a lot of Mordor, or what he had seen of it, at any rate. Some of the rocks sticking out of the water seemed to stretch upwards forever, like pillars holding up the sky.

They finally came to a tiny opening in the impenetrable rock walls. It was barely wide enough for the _Opal _to pass through. "No enemy has ever been able to breach these walls," said Barbossa. No one responded, for they were all much too preoccupied with their own thoughts. It was impressive, this pirate fortress. Who would have thought that this rabble of uncultured and mostly illiterate sailors from all over the world would have a place like this?

"This is basically the Forum of the pirate world," said Jack. "Everythin' important is here; the Code, the single conference room that we can boast."

"This was where I became Pirate King," whispered Elizabeth. Her eyes seemed glazed as she relived old glory days.

"I am sorry to have missed that," said Will quietly.

"Oh, you should be," said Jack. "It was a momentous moment in pirate history! A pirate voted for someone other than hisself! Imagine _that_!"

* * *

To be quite honest, Jack was feeling more than just a little trepidation as he stepped onto the island situated in the middle of that immense fortress. Not only was it surrounded by miles of sea, a labyrinth of rock and thick natural walls, Shipwreck Cove was also protected by yet another stretch of water that acted as a moat around the main 'administrative centre'. Well, it was administrative in that there was a little bit of book work going on in there. Like most places inhabited by pirates, most time was spent on looting, pillaging, burning and drinking.

The 'administrative centre' was really no more than a pile of wrecked ships stacked in a beehive formation, creating multiple winding corridors that led into the very heart of the structure, where the only copy of the _Pirata Codex_ was kept. That was where Teague had last been seen, according to what information they had been able to glean from the drunkards in Tortuga. He tried to shrug off his nervousness. This was _his _father that they were here to find. Sure, his relationship with his father had never been easy —Teague really wasn't the paternal sort— but they had some sort of strange agreement whereby they both tolerated one another well enough.

"Lead the way, _Captain _Sparra," said Barbossa. Jack fought the urge to shoot him. Sometimes, even he marvelled at his own patience. If he had been younger, he really would have shot Barbossa. Multiple times. In the head and...other places which a cultured gentleman really should not name. But that Jack was dead, and had been for a long time.

"Finally you recognize that I'm captain. Took you long enough, Hector ole boy," he said instead, flashing his most brilliant smile at the old pirate. The one thing he had learned about insults was that if he pretended he didn't give a damn, then the one who had insulted him in the first place would end up being even more insulted. It was strange, but it worked. "If he's here, my father should be...Oh, hello...Father."

There, sitting on a three legged barstool and looking not entirely out of place in the cramped octagonal library full of ancient books —mostly looted— and other priceless old artefacts, was Captain Teague Sparrow, the only known man in the world who had ever found the Fountain of Youth.

* * *

Balian observed Jack's father carefully. As far as the other man was concerned, the rest of them might as well not have existed. Teague's attention was focused solely on Jack, and on a disgusting shrunken head the size of an orange that turned out had once been Jack's mother. No wonder the poor pirate was slightly mad. Teague kept on referring to her and to what had happened after she had abandoned a young Jack in the care of her brother after she had run off to find her lover. No matter how hard Jack tried to turn the conversation towards the subject of the Fountain, even to the point of asking his father directly about it, Teague refused to say anything of any importance.

He turned his attention to his surroundings. Judging from the way pirates acted, he would never have guessed that they were into collecting books. Priceless books too, mostly on the occult arts. There were many alchemy texts, at least, as far as he could see. The books came from all sorts of places obviously, because most of them were written in languages that he did not even recognize.

"Men were not meant to live forever, Jackie. They're not supposed to find that cursed fountain an' everythin' else that comes with it," Teague kept on saying to his son. "It ain't right. I know that now."

"Beggin' your pardon, Da, but I got livin' proof that men _can_ be immortal," said the younger pirate. Before Balian knew it, the pirate had hauled him to his feet. "Come on, Da. I'm a grown man. I can decide for meself if I want to go after it or not, after you tell me."

"I don't want you to go after it, and if I don't tell ye, you won't know where to go," said Teague. "You can't outplay me, Jack."

"Ah, but that's exactly where you are wrong!" cried Jack triumphantly as he produced the bamboo map from one of his giant pockets. He unrolled it ever so slowly, as if he was savouring this moment of triumph. "See this here?" he said as he pointed at the faded painting of a goblet with the words 'Aqua de Vida' inscribed meticulously beneath it. "Somebody's already helpfully marked it out for us. I think I recognize that script, Da."

"Well done," said Teague. The man spoke with so little emotion; it was as if he had no emotions. "Since you already know where it is, why do you need me to tell ya anythin'?" He turned around and prepared to go, which was definitely _not_ what Jack had wanted.

"Wait!" Elizabeth suddenly said. "Please, Captain Sparrow. We wouldn't have come to you if we weren't desperate."

"So the Pirate King herself speaks, eh?" said Teague, stopping in his tracks and turning around to face them once more. There was a glint of amusement in his pale blue eyes, and all of a sudden, his weathered face no longer seemed as if it was carved out of rock by a very inexperienced sculptor. "Well, why are you all here if you're not after the water of life, hmm?"

"We're here for a friend," said Elizabeth. She slowly explained everything. Every moment, Balian expected Teague to laugh the entire tale off as one huge jest —because that was exactly what it sounded like— but the old pirate did no such thing. He listened intently, saying very little, and occasionally giving Jack a glance or two. When Elizabeth finally got up to the part where they had speculated that Legolas' ailment could only be cured by water from the Fountain of Youth, Teague was completely enraptured by her tale. It hadn't even been a particularly good retelling.

"My," he said at last. "You really are more accomplished than I give you credit for." The pirate rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Still, I don't feel entirely comfortable divulgin' this secret to ya, seein' as it ain't natural. But..." He paused. Everyone held onto their breaths, hoping that Teague was going to go against his instincts —something that Balian usually disapproved of, but was actually praying for this time— and tell them the location of the Fountain. "But," he said again, "I can give you a clue. Look to the trinities."

"The what?" said Jack, frowning and raising one eyebrow at the same time.

"You heard me, boy," said Teague, "an' that's all I'm prepared to say. You can stay the night if you wish, but I suspect you'll be wantin' to set off as soon as possible." With that, he disappeared around the corner.

"We're not goin' to get anythin' more out of him," said Jack. "I thought I could, but...oh, this hurts to admit —I was wrong."

"You did get something out of him, Jack," said Will. "He said something about trinities."

"Not just trinities," said Paris. "_The_ trinities."

"So...which trinities are we referring to exactly?" said Balian.

* * *

"The Holy Trinity? Honestly?!"

"That can't be worse than the trinity of Abrahamic religions!"

"Can we think about something else other than all this spiritual stuff?"

The discussion was going absolutely nowhere. None of them could figure out what Teague meant. It was simply...too vague. Much too vague. There were multiple trinities in the world, but none of them seemed to fit.

"Maybe we're trying to be too sophisticated," said Will thoughtfully. "Maybe he's not referring to any well known trinities at all, and just three of something specific, or maybe even the number three."

"What's so special about that number?" asked Achilles, confused.

"Apart from all the trinities that we just named?" said Elizabeth.

"There is a _Two Hornpipes_," said Balian. "Maybe there is a _Three Hornpipes_ out there somewhere."

"The Fountain of Youth is a pub?" said Jack. "One can only hope."

"Dream on, Sparra," said Anamaria. "If there were a colony o' drunkards out there, we'd have heard of it by now."

"Trinity, three, tri...Triangles?" said Balian.

"The Pyramids o' Giza!" cried Jack.

"Or, better yet," said Will. He picked up a handful of the roasted pumpkin seeds they had been eating and then used them as markers. "Florida..." He placed a pumpkin seed there. "Bermuda..." Pumpkin seed. "And San Juan Bautista." Pumpkin seed. "It's a triangle. And in the middle of this triangle is the Fountain of Youth, according to the map."

"Bloody hell!" Jack was beyond furious. "It was there all along! That old geezer—"

"That old geezer be extremely unhelpful," said Barbossa. "That triangular area be rather large."

"So we're back to where we started," said Paris. "At least we now know for sure that whoever drew this map didn't just put the cup there because it looked good."

"It was my father who drew that cup," growled Jack. "I need some rum."

* * *

**A/N: **I'm sorry that this chapter is so much shorter than usual. This week has been really busy. I still have one essay to write and it's due on Wednesday and I have a journalism workshop to attend tomorrow. However, the good news is that I at least have some idea about where I can go from here now.


	5. A Trinity of Trinities

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 5: A Trinity of Trinities**

_James sat astride his horse uncomfortably. Horses had never suited him. He was a man of the sea. Every now and then, he glanced back at the small train of chained slaves being herded along the narrow dusty road. Their feet dragged, weighed down by heavy iron rings. Even the girl he had first bought, the feisty one, had grown silent, although she never stopped glaring at him. Her ankles were bleeding from where the manacles had rubbed away the skin. She could not have been more than twelve —it was hard to tell, for she had a small frame, probably from lack of nourishment— but the hatred in her eyes belonged to someone who was much older. It didn't sit well with him, letting her stumble on. He pulled his horse to a halt before dismounting. _

"_Sir, what are you doin'?" said Gill. _

"_She can't walk like this," said James as he undid the manacles that bound the girl's feet. As he did so, she almost bolted, but, unfortunately for her, James was quicker and caught her before she could escape. She kicked and screamed, but she was only a child, and weakened from malnourishment. The other slaves looked on passively. James suspected they had all seen something similar before. Perhaps they knew they could not win against the white men with their guns. Perhaps they had lost the will to fight, unlike this girl child who was still too young to understand how far out of her reach freedom was. _

"_Now," he said to her, hoping she understood some English. She had to, right? "If you don't stop struggling, I shall have to put those back on you." For a while, it seemed as if she hadn't registered that he wasn't striking her, but when she did, she began to calm down, although she stared at him with wary eyes. In her world, kindness and white men did not go together, even if James was considered to be rather swarthy. _

_He lifted her onto his horse and then swung up into the saddle behind her. She seemed to be terrified of the beast, and clung onto the pommel for all she was worth. James hoped that his riding skill would be enough to keep them both on the horse's back. He'd never ridden like this before, with someone sharing the saddle with him, let alone a female creature of such a diminutive size. In front of him, the slave girl sniffled and then risked wiping her nose with one hand. The other was still holding onto the pommel. _

_James kicked his horse into a walk. The animal lurched forward, frightening the girl. "It's all right," he murmured to her. It wasn't too different from talking to a horse, really, except horses usually did not respond to his voice. "No one's going to hurt you."_

"_Really?" she said. The young man almost jerked back in surprise. _

"_You know how to speak?" he asked before he realized how ridiculous that sounded. Of course she could speak. She'd been screaming and shouting in a foreign language that he hadn't been able to understand, hadn't she? _

"'_Course," she said. "I learn." _

"_If you can speak English, then do you have a name, young missy?" asked James. _

"_Marie," she said. "Mama call me other name, but ghost man call me Marie." _

"_Ghost man?" said James. _

"_You, ghost man," said Marie. "You white. Like ghost." _

"_Perhaps you're right," said James. The plantation was coming into sight. His uncle would berate him. His cousins would laugh at him. "What did you expect?" they would all say. "His mother did run off with a good-for-nothing sailor." No one would ever entrust him with anything important ever again. _

"_We are a bit like ghosts sometimes, forced to repeat what others have done before us and not knowing why we do those things," he murmured. Marie didn't seem to understand what he was saying, but James himself knew well enough. It was at times like these when he felt that he understood why his mother had left. _

* * *

It took a while to repair the _Opal_. In fact, Balian was surprised it could be repaired at all, seeing as it looked as if half of it had been ripped off by the storm. However, the pirates were nothing if not ingenious. Jack had managed to buy salvaged parts of other wrecked ships at a bargain price —not using his own gold, of course. It would only be a few days before they could sail for this triangle of Will's, or Teague's, or whoever's.

The former blacksmith helped in whatever way he could. He had some carpentry skills, having been required to make repairs to his own smithy back in the day, although his rudimentary skills were hardly enough for the complex engineering that ship-building required. Mostly, he was given the menial tasks and he simply followed the instructions of those who knew better than he did. It turned out that Legolas was actually quite adept at the art of shipbuilding.

"I intend to build one myself," he had once confided in Balian as the two of them had sat in the quietest corner of the pub, watching yet another brawl. "My people are sailing over the sea. Soon, there will be none of us left. If I still happen to be...alive, I have every intention of following them." The Frenchman had said nothing in response. He had only nodded, all the while thinking about what _he _would do with himself. Being immortal was not easy, especially not in a world where people were expected to die sooner or later.

Apparently, it was storm season in the Caribbean. It actually did not surprise Balian that much to find that they'd arrived just in time to sail through storms. It suited their luck, or rather, the lack thereof. What had surprised him was that so far, no one had had to summon Calypso, not that he wanted someone to do it. The last thing he wanted was to become her next target.

* * *

The wide expanse of ocean stretched out before them like an endless piece of blue silk. "Are you sure that this is the triangle?" asked Paris dubiously as he squinted down at the sparkling water. The reflected light danced on the Trojan's face. Wind toyed with his curls, making him look ridiculously young. Well, at least Jack thought so. "I mean, what's there to set this bit of ocean apart from...say...every other ocean in the world?"

"Well, it's warmer than the Atlantean Ocean," said Achilles.

"That would be the Atlantic," said Paris without looking back at his kinsman by marriage.

"You understood me all the same," said the Greek.

"Come on, Your Highness," said Jack with his characteristic self-assured grin. "When have we ever failed you? Well, apart from that time at Troy when we didn't give you a gun to shoot Menelaus with. But that's another story altogether. Don't worry. I know where we are. It's called navigation. See this thing here? This is a _compass_."

Barbossa snorted. Jack whipped around to glare at the older pirate, who was completely unperturbed. "As fond as I be of ye, Jack Sparra, I must point out that your compass be more of a 'cheating' device than a navigational one."

"What do you know?" said Jack with a sniff. "It's a device I use fer cheatin' at navigation, so by definition, it's a navigational device, savvy?"

"Boys," said Elizabeth, walking between the two of them whilst carrying a coil of rope. "Be nice."

"Don't you use that tone with Willie?" said Jack, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," replied the woman with a completely straight face.

"An' you're usin' it on me?!"

"You were behaving as if you were Willie's age," said Elizabeth with a shrug. "It seemed appropriate. Stop grinning like that please, Captain Barbossa. You were included. Note the fact that I said 'boys'."

"Whelp!" hollered Jack, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand as he tilted his head back to look at where Will was, which was in the crow's nest. "Yer lady's bein' infuriatin'!"

"It's part of what I love about her!" Will called back down. "Now, Jack, have you any idea about where we should start looking?" The admiral had his spyglass to his eye and he seemed to be scouring the horizon for anything that looked promising, although, with Will being what he was, he was always highly unpredictable, especially when he got some stupid idea.

Jack put his own spyglass to his eye, all the while thinking furiously about his father had said. Trinities, not trinity. Which meant there was more than one set of three things, and the triangle only had one set of three things, which meant there were more sets of three things out there... "Look for three things!" he shouted.

"Which three things?" came the reply.

"Just three things!"

"Your tri-corn hat has three corners."

"You know what, whelp? I think you've been at the absinthe again."

Elizabeth's screech was probably heard for miles around. "Absinthe?!" she demanded.

* * *

"Sailing towards the coast of Florida?" mused Cutler Beckett. He limped over to the wall where a large map of the known world had been painted. His cane and his footsteps tapped out an uneven rhythm.

"According to Fitzpatrick, they headed for a highly fortified island first," said Jonathan as he took a sip of his tea. It wasn't quite sweet enough for him yet. He added another cube of sugar and gave the milky brown liquid a stir before tapping the silver teaspoon on the rim of the cup to get rid of any residual tea still sticking to it. There; that was much better.

"Shipwreck Cove," said Cutler. "Undoubtedly for information, although I wonder if they actually found any of use."

"Maybe we should take Shipwreck Cove and find out," said Jonathan.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, brother," said Cutler. "Shipwreck Cove is nigh impenetrable. You would be shipwrecked before you ever got close enough to bombard its walls. No, I think we should simply follow Sparrow. After all, he's never failed to find whatever it was that we were both after."

* * *

Fitzpatrick lowered his spyglass. The pirates seemed to have lowered their anchor, for the time-being, although it was quite difficult to tell, with them being so far away, even if he did have one of the best spyglasses that money could buy. It was the price of subtlety. His ship, the _Bounty Hunter_, bobbed up and down gently in the water. Unlike most sailors, his men did not shout out to one another, instead, communicating with an elaborate system of hand signals. He had threatened to cut out their tongues if any of them dared to break this so-called 'code of silence'.

Having been in this business for so long, Fitzpatrick knew how important it was for his prey to remain completely oblivious, preferably until after he'd struck. For now, the pirates seemed to be staying put, doing God knew what, not that he cared. After all, the only thing he really cared about was hard, cold gold. He often liked to think that he feared nothing too, but if he had to be completely honest to himself, he had to admit that this area made him just a little bit nervous. There were tales about this place, of giant sea dragons, strange weather and entire crews that disappeared from their ships whilst the vessels remained undamaged. So, all in all, he would prefer it if this could be done quickly and cleanly.

* * *

Legolas willed his vision to improve. Even with the help of the spyglass, all he could see were dark specks in the water, and he wasn't certain if they were merely a figment of his imagination. "Will!" he called. "Can you see those?"

"I see them!" said Will. "I'm not certain what they are though."

"Are they moving? I cannot tell." It was so difficult for him to admit that, and to ask for help, but there was nothing for it. Sooner or later, he would have to come to terms with his ailment, because if they could not find the Fountain, then he would have to face the possibility that he could be...well.

"I don't think so..." said Will. "And whatever those are, there are three of them."

* * *

Excitement and trepidation filled the hearts of all the crew, and for once, they felt as if they had a heading; a direction. Suddenly, Teague's words seemed to make sense. He had been telling them the location of the Fountain all along; they had simply not been able to figure it out. The _Opal_ cut through the water towards the three dark specks. Salty sea spray splashed their faces as they leaned over the rails to get a better glimpse of their destination, their promised reward. Which, by the way, wasn't looking like a lot at the moment, considering all they could see were three rocks in the middle of an ocean. Unless those rocks turned out to be _special_ rocks, of course.

"Are you sure that this is the right place?" asked Balian dubiously. "I don't see anything that looks like a fountain, much less the Fountain of Youth."

"Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not there," said Will. "If it were that easy to find, we'd have a world full of immortal people. Imagine, an immortal Cutler Beckett." There was almost a collective shudder. Of course, Jack Sparrow considered himself to be far too seasoned to shudder at the mention of Beckett, even though he came close to it. To be honest, it was really quite terrifying. He hoped that any ensuing nightmares would keep the Whelp awake. It was his fault for mentioning the very notion of it.

As they drew closer, they realized that those rocks were not just mere rocks, but the tips of three-sided pyramids sticking out from the water. Their surfaces were polished, but the edges were sharp; somehow, the battering of the waves had not caused the rock to erode.

"I do not believe this," whispered Paris. "It is..." He trailed off, for he was at a complete loss for words. Riddles often became obvious once they were solved, but no one had ever expected it to be_ that_ obvious.

"It's a trinity of trinities," said Will. "We are inside a triangle, heading for another triangle marked out by triangular rocks. This can't possibly be a coincidence, right?"

"I stopped believing in coincidences when I met all of you," said Balian. "Everything seems to happen for a purpose when it comes to us."

"So...where is the Fountain?" said Gimli. A note of impatience had crept into the dwarf's voice, although he was trying to hide it. They were sailing straight for the centre of the triangle, although what they expected to find once they were there, no one could tell. For all they knew, Jack could be steering towards the centre simply for the sake of perfecting his steering skills.

"Maybe it's underwater," said Jack cheerfully as he motioned for Barbossa to take over his place at the wheel —a sure sign that something very significant was going on. Perhaps the pirate just wasn't feeling all that well. "With these things, who really knows?" He sauntered over to join the small crowd at the rail. "Y'know, looking for the damn thing was a lot more exciting. Now that we've located it —sort of— it's actually rather anti-climatic." Before the last syllable was even completed, thunder rumbled in the sky, even though it had been clear just moments before. Unnaturally dark clouds gathered above them, and the wind began to howl, sending up giant waves to batter the ship. It was all happening to quickly that for a moment, no one knew how to react. Then all the naval officers began shouting at once and the crew darted everywhere, trying to obey the sometimes conflicting commands. Confusion reigned. Two waves, coming at broadside and portside of the ship respectively, formed a roof of water above their heads.

And then it all came tumbling down.

* * *

Sand. His mouth was full of sand, and he was lying on wet sand. Balian spat out the mouthful of sand and then opened his eyes slowly. He felt lightheaded, and his face was caked with salt. For a moment, he thought he was back in the Holy Land and waking up after the shipwreck that had left him stranded on the coast of Lebanon. Had the war, the fall of Jerusalem, all just been a terribly realistic dream? Then he realized that this was not Lebanon, because lying next to him was a tri-corn hat. Jack's hat. Jack would never willingly abandon his hat.

The man started to push himself up, but a sharp pain in his right arm made him grunt and drop back down involuntarily.

"Thank the Lord I'm not the only one!" said a familiar voice. Will.

Balian winced as he slowly sat up, using only his left arm for leverage. "Where are we? Where are all the others?" he asked.

"I don't know," said the admiral, who, apart from a gash on his forehead that was bleeding sluggishly, seemed to be physically hale. However, there was no mistaking the worry in his voice. "I've been searching for...half an hour, perhaps? You are the first one I found. Are you all right?"

"I think I've broken something, but yes, I am fine," said Balian. He looked around. They were on a wide golden beach with tall palm trees and not a single ship in sight. The sand stretched on, broken only by the horizon line. "Jack's hat is here. He would never leave his hat."

"No, and the fact that it is here makes this all the more alarming," said Will, bending down to pick it up. He turned it over in his hands, staring at it as if willing it to tell him what had happened to its owner. However, not even in the strangest circumstances did hats talk, and Jack's was no exception. It stayed silent.

"They cannot be that far away, surely," said Balian.

"Who knows?" said Will. "Remember that time when you ended up in the Holy Land, Legolas went to Tortuga, whilst the rest of us were in Middle Earth? And have you noticed that there are no pieces of wreckage strewn all over the beach? It's as if the boat never existed at all, and the rest of them just...disappeared."

"You've only been searching for half an hour, with all due respect," said Balian. "I believe that they have to be around here somewhere. Come. We should keep searching. They're probably just as worried about us." He winced as he accidentally bumped his arm. He'd broken bones before, and this was not the worst break he'd ever experienced, but if it wasn't bound and splinted properly, the bone had every chance of not healing properly. Will knew it too, for he tore some strips off the bottom of his shirt and then made splints out of the straightest bits of driftwood he could find.

"It seems to be a clean break," said Will.

"And that in itself is an unusual occurrence," said the Frenchman wryly. "Let us hope that my bad luck has not been transferred to someone else."

"Or, if it has been transferred, then it was transferred to someone more deserving of it."

* * *

"They disappeared?!" Jonathan Beckett's outraged hiss wasn't particularly loud, but Fitzpatrick heard him very clearly in his silent study. The only other sound was the crackling of the small fire in the hearth that was inappropriately cheerful. There was nothing cheerful about this meeting. John Fitzpatrick had come bearing bad news, and also expecting bad news. At two and forty years, he had worked for enough men like Jonathan Beckett to understand how their minds worked, and he had only survived because he had played by a few simple but strict rules; never trust one's employer, and never be too greedy. Sure, he asked for high prices, but he only ever took a portion of it, knowing that should he return to claim the other half, he would undoubtedly be killed.

"That's what I said," said Fitzpatrick as he took a sip from the flask of bourbon that hung at his belt.

"Men do not simply disappear!" declared Beckett.

"If that is the case, I'm done here," said Fitzpatrick. He started to get up to leave. What he hadn't expected was for the door to be locked.

"Not so quickly, Fitzpatrick," said Beckett. "You cannot simply take my money, waltz in here, tell me that you have lost your quarry, and expect to walk away."

"With all due respect, that was less than half of what we'd agreed on, Lord Beckett," said Fitzpatrick with an almost mocking inclination of the head. He looked down upon Jonathan Beckett and his ilk with scorn. A real man was one who would do his own dirty work. Of course, if all men were real men, then he would be unemployed and probably dead by now.

"Nevertheless, unless you are willing to give it back, which I suspect you are not, then I want results," said Beckett. "You will take me to where Sparrow and his crew of miscreants have, as you so eloquently put it, disappeared. It seems that I can trust no one to do anything properly, and therefore I must do all the work myself."

* * *

To say that Jack was annoyed was the understatement of the century. Here he was, stranded on some unknown beach after having followed his father's instructions and sailed into the middle of a triangle marked out by triangular rocks inside yet another triangle, and then been struck by a flash storm with no rain. Even worse, his hat was missing, and all the rum had disappeared along with his ship. Yes, he needed to sort out his priorities and no, he didn't give an arse rat's—sorry— a rat's arse.

"Well, it could be worse," he muttered to himself in a futile attempt to cheer himself up as he stormed across the beach, searching for some sign of human life, or elven, or dwarven...or even signs of monkey life. Indeed, he was that desperate. "You could have been stranded here with ole Barbossa."

"Did someone call me?" came the familiar drawl from over one of the tall sand dunes.

Jack slapped his forehead and let out a string of unwholesome words that would have surely impressed his adopted 'nephews'. He wasn't the only one who was cussing.

"Of all the people in the world, Sparra, it had to be you." Barbossa trudged over the top of the sand dune towards Jack. Much to the younger pirate's ire, the old buccaneer had retained position of his own hideous feathered headwear, although, Jack noted with some satisfaction, the single large white feather in Barbossa's hat was looking decidedly bedraggled and droopy. "Have ye any idea where we be?"

"You think I'd be standin' here talkin' to you if I did?" demanded Jack irritably. "Nuthin' looks familiar. E'en the trees are strange. Look at those leaves." The two pirates turned their attention to some nearby trees that looked a bit like the coconut palms of the Caribbean, but not quite. The leaves were slightly longer, and a deeper shade of green, and the trunks were decidedly smoother.

"Have you seen anyone else?" asked the old pirate. "Where be Mrs. Turner?"

"Oh, don't tell me you have thing for Lizzie, now," said Jack, earning himself a glare which he shrugged off with the flair of one who was a veteran at ignoring insults. "She's married to the Whelp, an' it ain't as if she'd give you a second look. I mean, she rejected me. Shows her bad taste, I reckon."

"Ye be insufferable, Sparra," said Barbossa, rolling his eyes. "And I be tempted to shoot ye, 'cept my gun be not workin' due to the wet powder."

"That feeling's mutual, mate," said Jack. He shielded his eyes with a heavily bejewelled hand. The sun was so hot, and there was no sign of fresh water in sight, apart from those palm trees which, by the way, had no fruit.

"And ye be wonderin' why Elizabeth preferred the Admiral?" Jack chose to ignore that. After all, his offer to Elizabeth had not been entirely serious. Yes, his pride had been mildly bruised, but he was also rather relieved that he did not have a woman like her telling him what to do. If she had said yes, then she could have even turned him into a good man. The horror!

The two...err...acquaintances made their way down the beach, each trying his best to pretend that the other did not exist. They were quite good at that, to be honest. It had to have been at least two hours before they came upon any signs of other survivors. There were footprints in the sand, unfortunately, heading in exactly the same direction as they were, which meant that whoever had made them had to be two hours away, unless something had happened or they had stopped. "I'd say these are female, judgin' from the size," said Jack. "Probably Anamaria's, coz she walks with a manly swagger, and she is a bit smaller than Lizzie."

"Sparra, if ye be noticin' all that about 'er, ye should be thinkin' o' askin' her for her hand in marriage," said Barbossa as he bent down to inspect the footprints.

The footprints were forgotten. Jack stared at Barbossa incredulously, trying to figure out whether he'd been possessed by a demonic spirit and was in need of an exorcism, or whether he'd hit his head. "Hector, are you all right?" he asked.

"What be ye on about, Jack Sparra?"

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Jack held up his hand in front of Barbossa's face, only to have the other man swat it away.

"I be perfectly fine, Sparra, apart from the fact that ye be in my presence," he snapped.

"Oi! I was just showin' a bit o' compassion, savvy? It goes to show that good intentions ne'er get any good returns." The war of words soon turned into a war of obscene gestures. They were so occupied with insulting one another that they did not notice that they had company.

"You know what I really like about you two?" called Paris as he strode towards them with Achilles, Briseis and Elizabeth behind him. They looked relatively unharmed apart from the fact that Elizabeth was limping ever so slightly and needed to be supported by the Trojan woman. "I can always trust you to be loud. It's good to have a constant in life."

"Wonderful!" cried Jack. "Now I don't have to put up with Barbossa all on me onesies!"

"I be as relieved as ye, Sparra," said Barbossa.

"You two agree on something," said Achilles. "I take that as a sign from the deities up there that something big is about to happen."

"What's to say it hasn't already happened?" said Elizabeth. "We're stranded here in the middle of nowhere, aren't we?"

"Dear Lizzie, this is normal," said Jack.

* * *

The first thing she was aware of was a headache. She lifted her hand to gingerly touch her head, which, much to her surprise, was bandaged. "Steady lass," said a gentle gruff voice. "You hit your head pretty hard." Anamaria tried to sit up. Bad mistake, for bile rose up at the back of her throat. She almost fell back down again, and she would have, if strong arms had not caught her.

"Gimli?" she said, hating how weak she sounded. She wasn't supposed to be weak. She couldn't afford to be, for God's sake!

"Yes, I'm here," said the dwarf. "And the pointy-eared princeling is here too. He said he's off to scout the area and to see whether he can find any of the others. He should be back soon."

At least she wasn't alone, and she had to count herself fortunate that she was with Legolas and Gimli instead of Ragetti and Pintel. "What happened?"

"We were shipwrecked, and now...I don't know where we are, lass."

Anamaria cracked open one eye. The sunlight was so bright that she immediately closed it again, but then she forced herself to open both eyes. She could not just lie their forever. Concussion or not, she had to do something to help get them out of this predicament. At first, her vision was blurry, but as it settled and focused, she realized that they were surrounded by high sand dunes, a few sparse beach grasses and some strange looking palm trees. Someone had carried her over to the shade of one said tree. She started to worry about coconuts falling on them until she realized that they were not coconut palms, and that they bore no fruit. Therefore, coconut milk was completely out of the question.

"It don't look like the Caribbean much," she remarked to Gimli.

"I wouldn't know, lass," said the dwarf. "This is my first time in your world. I'm still not used to all this world-jumping business. Very unnerving, if you ask me. I don't know how you do it."

"It ain't as if we got a choice," said the female pirate. "Help me up?"

"You shouldn't be standing yet," chided Gimli, but he did as she asked anyway. If she hadn't known better, she would have wondered how such chivalrous people as Gimli and Legolas ended up in Jack Sparrow's company, not that Jack couldn't be chivalrous if he wanted to be; it was just that he was often not in the mood. Being a pirate, Anamaria was of the idea that chivalry was a bit outdated and could be rather dangerous if exercised in excess, but sometimes she appreciated gentlemanly gestures, just as any other woman would. She took a deep breath and tried to get a good footing on the flat sandy ground. This was pathetic. She'd escaped from her slavemasters as a child, hadn't she? Perhaps being a naval officer had made her soft.

The ocean glistened in the periphery of her vision. The light reflecting off the surface of the water was so bright that she could not look at it directly. She licked her lips, tasting salt. Oh, what would she give for a drink of cold fresh water, like the water that she had taken for granted in Minas Tirith. Yes, the high life had made her very soft indeed.

"Ah, Legolas is coming back," said Gimli. "And, Mahal bless us all, he's found Will and Balian!"

"And it took me a while too," said the elf as he neared them. He was gasping for breath. Droplets of sweat glistened on his brow. He wiped them away with a sleeve. "Remind me to never tease any of you about not being able to run for as long as the elves again," he said. "Not that I think I will ever need reminding."

"You know what, laddie?" said Gimli with a grin. "I think that this illness of yours could be a blessing in disguise."

"Oh, be quiet," said Legolas. "It does not feel much like a blessing at the moment."

"Time will tell," said Will. "Although, we'd have to make sure we don't die of thirst first. There is a settlement not too far from here. We saw it on our way here. My guess is that the others will find it soon enough and they'll head for it too."

* * *

From a distance, the town looked peaceful enough. Carts and people passed in and out of its gates without being stopped. However, upon closer inspection, one could see that it was not just a sleepy little town. Upon the fortifications were rows of gallows. Decomposing bodies hung from them, each with a sign around its neck. Crows perched on bloated shoulders, pecking at blind unseeing eyes.

"They were pirates," whispered Jack as he lowered his spyglass.

"Are you sure we want to go in there?" asked Elizabeth, eying the corpses with much disgust.

"No," said Jack, "but what choice do we have? We ain't got no supplies and we have no idea where we are. I mean, we're not here to pillage and plunder, so how can they tell that we're pirates?"

"Even so, I think those of us who don't look like absolute scallywags should go in first, just to find out what is going on in the town," said Elizabeth. "This place is smaller than even Port Royal, and I doubt they have a big enough force stationed here, unless..." Her voice trailed off as a band of soldiers marched through the town's gates.

"Right, who should go in and scout out the town? An' maybe get some rum?" said Jack.

"I suppose I could go up to the gate," said Elizabeth. "I can look relatively respectable."

"I'll go with you," said Paris.

"Me too," added Briseis.

"And you'll need someone who can wield heavy weapons," said Achilles. He turned to Jack and Barbossa. "I'm afraid you two gentlemen will have to enjoy each other's company for a while longer."

* * *

No one paid the travellers much attention as they made their way up to the town's gates. That could be due to the fact that everyone in the town seemed to be dressed in all sorts of outlandish clothing. Some of the men were in long flowing robes of colourful fabrics, whilst others wore perfectly respectable jackets and breeches with buckle shoes.

They stopped one of the women who were coming out of the town to ask her about the place. "You don't know?" she said, looking at them as if they were mad. Or fools. "This is Port Saint James, the most secure port in the Caribbean," she told them. "It's under the control of the East India Trading Company now. They make the laws around here."

"I bet Beckett loves playin' king," muttered Jack.

"Beckett?" said the woman. "I don't know who you're talkin' about."

Barbossa and Jack exchanged worried glances. How could this woman live under the rule of the East India Trading Company and not know about Beckett?

"Who is in charge?" asked Paris.

"Where have you been for the past ten years?" asked the woman. "Lord Sparrow is in charge, of course!"

* * *

**A/N: **Lots of talking in this chapter, but the next chapter will get into the meaty bits.


	6. And It All Goes To Pot

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them sometime in the future, savvy? **

Scarlet Rebelle: You'll find out soon enough. ;) Thanks for the review!

**Chapter 6: And It All Goes To Pot**

Lord Sparrow. What the hell was going on? For once, Jack found that he had been completely robbed of the power of speech. Lord Sparrow? In charge of the bloody East India Trading Company?! He had to admit that it didn't sound like a bad position, but apart from himself and his father, there were no other Sparrows in the world. Were there?

They thanked the woman for the information, as unhelpful as it seemed at the moment. "Great," said Elizabeth. "Are we sure we want to go into a town ruled by a 'Lord Sparrow'?"

"What other choice have we got?" asked Paris. "We need to find the others, and if I were them, I would head for the nearest settlement. Who knows if someone's been injured?"

"If it were up to me, I would rather not go into a town that has dead people hanging from the walls of the fort," said Achilles.

"Getting squeamish, are we?" said Paris.

"Gentlemen!" said Elizabeth sharply. "Behave, please. What we really need is not really to discuss whether we should go in there or not, but how to go in _without_ getting caught. We don't know where we are, what is going on, and moreover, we need food and water."

"As much as I would hate to admit it, that is true," said Briseis, looking a bit uncomfortable with her confession.

"Aha!" cried Jack. "Let it be noted that—Sorry, Lizzie, but it's a monumental moment! A woman instead of a man thinking with the stomach! Wot? Fine. You have no sense of humour at all."

"Maybe what we be lacking be the ability to understand nonsense, Sparra," said Barbossa. "The lass be right. I be not fond of the idea o' starvin' to death."

They all turned back to the town. Carts were passing in and out, most of them carrying goods that were covered with heavy sheets of oil cloth to protect them. The guards paid little attention to the carts. In fact, they seemed to be ignoring them altogether.

"Well, I have an idea, and it is quite simple," said Achilles. "I'm not certain His Royal Highness would like it though."

* * *

"A fort with bodies hanging from the battlements," said Balian. "I thought your people were supposed to be more civilized than mine."

"Speak for yourself," said Will as he took his spyglass from the Frenchman and put it to his eye again. He didn't favour their circumstances at all. They had accidentally come across the settlement whilst wandering around the beaches searching for the others. At first, it had just been the fishermen's ships that they'd seen bobbing in the distance like toys on the ocean. Then they'd come across patrols of redcoats in some newfangled uniform. It was like a trail of crumbs and they, like those children in those fairy tales that he used to like to hear Elizabeth talk about when they had been children, had followed the 'crumbs' until they had come to the gingerbread house. Only, this was obviously a place of death, at least for pirates.

"I see a notice stuck next to the gate," Will continued. "And...my face is on it."

* * *

_His uncle had berated him. His cousins had laughed at him. Hell, the men had laughed, just not to his face. They said he was too soft-hearted to become anything significant. "You are a man, James!" his uncle had shouted, spraying spittle onto his face. "Don't think with your heart the way a woman does!" And then he'd rapped his knuckles sharply on James' skull. "Is there even anything inside there, huh? I made a mistake in thinking that you could amount to anything. You're your father's son." _

_His father's son. Those words had hurt more than anything. It reminded him that he didn't even know who his father was. He was just a bastard living on the charity of his mother's brother. He would always be an outsider who was dependent on their whims. If they were feeling particularly benevolent, they could throw him some scraps and he would be expected to wag his tail like a good dog and be thankful. If not, they could kick him out onto the streets. In essence, he was no better than those slaves out there; he only wore a different costume. _

_That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. If there was anything that James hated more, it was the sense of being trapped. He wanted his life to be like the sea; endless, limitless, unpredictable. The young man turned away from the window, away from the sight of those slaves tending to the sugar cane. His fate would not be like theirs. No. He would show them. All of them, and those who laughed at him would one day bow down to him. Somehow, he was going to make his way to the top. _

* * *

With some obscene language, some not-so-empty threats and a lot of expert bargaining which involved Paris' jewelled brooch, Jack managed to get them a cart. It wasn't a particularly clean one, and the bottom was smeared with squashed fruit, which made it unbearably sticky, but at least it didn't smell of anything less pleasant than fermented fruit, for which Elizabeth was thankful. Jack had insisted that they all hide under the canvas, apart from himself. It was rather cramped in the cart, but that could not be helped. Not everyone could be Anamaria's size. The thought of Anamaria made her think of all their other missing companions, and in particular, her husband. Little surprise there. Whenever she thought of him, her heart clenched with worry, and she was filled with the impulse to simply go and march around the beaches calling his name. The rational side of her told her that it wouldn't achieve a damn thing, but she was only human; she couldn't be entirely rational.

Instead, she focused on her current physical discomfort. With every jolt of the cart, they were thrown against one another. The dull throbbing ache in her ankle became a sharp jolt of pain whenever they hit a particularly big bump in the road. Jack, apparently, was not particularly good at leading horses, or anything equine, for that matter. They heard him cursing at the animals in all sorts of colourful language, and so many different tongues. She was quite certain she could identify Portuguese and French and Latin —Latin lessons would have been so much more interesting if she'd been allowed to learn those sorts of words— as well as something that had to be Pelagostos. There were even a few choice words of elvish and dwarvish peppering his speech, as well as some other language that Elizabeth could not name. If he hadn't been mad, Jack might have made a good diplomat. He certainly met the requirements as far as language skills were concerned.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered where he had learned all of these languages. For a pirate, he was surprisingly well-educated. In fact, she guessed that he actually had a gentleman's level of education —certainly not below that of James Norrington. She had always known that there was more to Jack than what he allowed them to see, but over the years, she had never thought to question the mystery that was Captain Jack Sparrow, preferring to let him remain a mystery. Perhaps some part of her still saw him as the larger than life character she had idolized as a child.

The jolting diminished as they went into the town and the dirt tracks became cobbled streets. She heard voices of people talking about mundane things; the price of melons, who Miss Jones was marrying, and Lady Sparrow's new dress that had been shipped in all the way from London. Wait...Lady Sparrow?

The passengers of the cart exchanged glances, or tried to. There was hardly enough space for them all to fit in, let alone move. However, from the tenseness that suddenly manifested, she could tell that they were all as interested as she was. Lord and Lady Sparrow? No Becketts? It just didn't make any sense. They all knew about Cutler Beckett —Jack had regaled them with enough tales about how he had thwarted the East India Trading Company time and time again, and Barbossa liked to tell his version of events, which often painted Jack in a not-so-glorious way— and Elizabeth remembered she had briefly mentioned Jonathan Beckett once in their company.

Moments later, light flooded into the dark, cramped interior of the cart, making Elizabeth squint as she glanced up. Jack had disguised himself by wiping off his kohl, taking out his hair ornaments and swapping his tri-corn for a tattered straw hat that he had gotten from the same man who had sold them the cart. "We got ourselves a stable to stay in," he said. Without his outlandish ornaments, he almost looked like a proper English gentleman. Well, the type who would charm ladies and then break their hearts. No proper English lady would be able to tame a man like Jack Sparrow. Anamaria, on the other hand—no, now was not the time to think about such trivialities.

"Have you heard any news about Will?" she asked as Barbossa and Jack helped her out of the cart. Her ankle seemed to have become rather swollen. She winced as she put weight on her left foot, and she would have stumbled if Barbossa had not been holding onto her arm. Inwardly, she was embarrassed about it. The last thing she wanted was to be the frail and delicate lady who held back the entire company.

"Well, I'm not sure if this is the right Will or not," began Jack in a low voice. He seemed a little nervous, for he kept on glancing about them to make sure that no one was eavesdropping. "But there is one William Turner whom everyone is talkin' about. Apparently, _he_ is the most notorious pirate in the seven seas and the nemesis of a Lord Sparrow, who is in charge of this twisted version o' the East India Tradin' Company." The pirate gave a disdainful sniff. Obviously, he was not happy about someone usurping his self-claimed title, especially _not_ someone called William Turner.

"Both Turner and William are common names, yes?" said Paris.

"But what are the chances of another Turner and Sparrow who know and hate each other?" said Achilles.

"Maybe it's a family feud," said Briseis.

"Luv, I wish it were, but as far as I know, Turners and Sparrows have always been allies, savvy?" said Jack. Gone was the easy humour that was characteristic of Jack, no matter how bad the circumstances were. Instead he looked...drawn and exhausted. Of course, they were all actually physically exhausted, but still.

"Then what's going on?" asked Paris.

"All I have is a theory, mate," said Jack. "And I'm really not all that fond of it."

"Fond of it or not, we be needin' to figure this out," said Barbossa. "So, Sparra, what outlandish ideas have ye come up with this time?"

* * *

William Turner, the most wanted man in the British Empire? It beggared belief. Well, not really; Will did blow up the _Endeavour_, but he would have thought that Jack would occupy that spot. "Do we really want to go in there?" said Legolas as he crawled through the sand over to where Will was crouching. They were hiding behind a few large rocks, a little way from the town. Everyone had agreed that it would be best if no one knew about them just yet, especially since Will's face was on a notice and, well, at least two of them could be arrested.

"I don't particularly fancy the notion, but do we have any choice?" asked Will. "I know Jack —well, as well as anyone can actually _know_ Jack Sparrow— and he would most definitely go in there, corpses and all. He's not afraid of taking risks. And the others too. If my face was not on a notice for the apprehension of the most notorious pirate of the seven seas, I would be in that town right now, searching for them, and also for food." As if in response, his stomach growled.

"Will's right," said Balian. "We can't just wait here forever, and the most dangerous place is most often the safest."

"What d'you mean?" asked Anamaria.

"What are the chances that this William Turner will walk into a town that wants to hang him? If we simply keep our heads down and look inconspicuous, I'm certain that those bored-looking sentries will not give us a second glance."

* * *

From his stronghold on an island that men had come to call Harbour Island, so known because it was one of the few places left in the world that could offer pirates and others who opposed the East India Trading Company, Captain William Turner heard the news. The price on his head had been raised from seventy thousand pounds to eighty thousand pounds. It seemed that the entire royal navy was under the control of James Sparrow —sorry, _Lord_ James Sparrow— and they were all searching for him. It was flattering really. Barely thirty years old, he was already immortalized in legend. Some of the tales about him were so impossible that he could not begin to imagine how people had come up with them. He supposed they needed someone in whom they could place their hopes, and unlikely as it was, he was that man.

He turned his sextant over in his hand. It had been a gift from his father. Old Bill Turner never got around to telling him about why it was different from all other sextants, only that he had to guard it with his life. A tiny wistful smile tugged at his lips. He had been so innocent then, barely out of boyhood and head over heels in love with the then Miss Swann. How naive he had been.

"Captain?" The young man looked up from his navigational equipment. Standing in the narrow doorway of the cramped room was the former slave woman he'd accidentally rescued from Sparrow's grasp all those years ago. She had been little more than a girl, then and he'd been on the run after they'd come for him in the middle of the night, just right after his father had warned him to take care of the sextant with his dying breath. Bill Turner had not been making much sense. Gangrene had spread through his body from the wound in his back. He had been feverous and delirious. It had taken a while for William to even understand that that had been his father. And then Bill had pressed the sextant into his hand, told him to keep it safe, and before William had been able to ask him what it was all about, his eyes had grown glassy. Since then, he'd been constantly running from the East India Trading Company. He knew that they were after the sextant, but he didn't know why. It didn't look any different from all the other sextants in the world, and for a piece of navigational equipment, it wasn't even particularly accurate. Still, he'd promised his father that he'd keep it safe, and he meant to keep that promise.

"Is something wrong, Anna Maria?" he asked.

"Captain Barbossa of the _Black Pearl _is here. He wants to see you."

Barbossa. William had heard that name every now and then. The old pirate had saved him once, when he'd been running from Sparrow's pursuit yet again. Hector Barbossa never let on much, but the young man had a distinct feeling that there was something between him and Sparrow, just as there had been something between his father and Sparrow. Hell, it seemed that everyone in the world had something to do with Sparrow.

"How...generous of him to grace me with his presence," William murmured, more to himself than to Anna Maria. If there ever was a most notorious pirate in the seven seas, then it was Hector Barbossa, even though Sparrow had mistakenly slapped the title on the much younger captain.

"What shall I tell him?"

"What is the manner of his request?" Well, young man or not, he was still one of _the_ key figures of the pirating world, and he had to act the part.

"He says that it is urgent," said Anna Maria. Her face was drawn with worry, although she tried very hard not to show it. However, William knew her too well. He waited. A tense silence followed as the woman decided whether or not she ought to speak. As a member of William's crew, albeit one with special privileges, she knew that whatever business Barbossa had with the captain was none of her business. However, she was more than just a member of his crew. At last, her concern for him won over, just as William knew that it would. "I don't trust him, William," she said.

"I know," said the captain. Slowly, he rose from his chair. His boots made hollow thuds on the wooden floorboards of the room as he approached her. Within two casual strides, he was standing there in front of her, so close that their bodies were almost touching. "I don't trust him either, but neither do I fear him."

"It's just that...you have risen to eminence so quickly. Too quickly, some would say," said the woman. "You are now his greatest threat."

"Anna Maria, stop," said William. "You and I both know why I rose to the top, and it's got nothing to do with my abilities as a captain —well, maybe a little."

"What do you mean?" said Anna Maria. "The men look to you."

"The only reason they do is because Sparrow has hunted me for ten years, spending more money and placing more troops on my tail than any other fugitive before me, and thus far, I have been able to elude him, with a lot of help and a lot of luck." William smiled drily. "I know what they say about me. They think I was sent. I think it's a load of bollocks."

"Sometimes the tale matters more than the hero," said Anna Maria. "What are you going to do?"

"What else would I do? Tell Barbossa that I will be down shortly."

* * *

"Here. That is where they disappeared," said Fitzpatrick.

Jonathan pointed his spyglass in the direction that the mercenary was pointing at. Apart from three strangely shaped rocks that were too uniform to be natural, there was nothing but open water. "You say the storm simply swallowed them up?" he asked.

"Yes," said Fitzpatrick. "I don't care how much you pay me, but I am not going into that triangle. Something devilish is at work here."

"_Sparrow_ is at work here," said Beckett, rolling his eyes as he put down his spyglass. "It's always going to be devilish when he's involved. Why else do you think I hired you?"

"Well, you can keep your money. I'm not going beyond this point," said the mercenary. Beckett noticed his hand slowly wandering towards his sword hilt and he smiled to himself. The fool thought he could foil a Beckett? Only one man had ever been able to do that and no matter how good Fitzpatrick was, he was no Jack Sparrow.

"Unfortunately, Mister Fitzpatrick, you have very little say in this," said Beckett. He whipped out his pistol before Fitzpatrick could even react. Cutler might have been the wilier of the Beckett brothers, but Jonathan certainly had not been idle. His specialty lay in weaponry. He cocked the weapon and pointed it directly at the spot between the mercenary's eyes. "So, what is it? Will you come with me, or will you feed the sharks?"

"You two-faced son of a bitch!" growled Fitzpatrick. "They warned me. I should've listened!"

"Maybe you should have, Fitzpatrick," said Beckett. Two soldiers seized the mercenary by the arms. One of them kneed him in the stomach. The man grunted in pain as he doubled over. Before he could even let out another obscenity, they had removed the weapons from his body and clapped his hands in shackles. Then the curses flooded out his mouth; the man seemed to know an endless number of insults, most of which were aimed at Beckett's parentage. "Now, now; there is no need for such language. After all, the only thing I have ever done to offend you is to play your own game better than you. I am afraid that my humble vessel does not have the space to accommodate such a distinguished guest as yourself, so if you'll forgive me, I'll have to house you in the brig."

The man was dragged, spitting and cursing like a wounded beast, down the steps which led to the brig. Beckett could not help but shake his head at the mercenary's stupidity. Bargaining with a Beckett? No one did anything like that. It was fatuous. "What now, milord?" asked his right-hand man, a Scot by the name of Macdowell.

"Isn't it obvious?" said Beckett. "Sail for the very centre of the triangle. I would like to know what it is that Sparrow found."

* * *

"This is ridiculous!" cried Elizabeth.

"Is it?" asked Paris. The Trojan prince was sitting on a hay bale and staring at the straw on the ground. He spoke without even bothering to look up, for he was carefully contemplating the theory that Jack had proposed. "I mean, we did all go to Middle Earth and to Rome —a city that was founded by my cousin several centuries ago, or so the legends say. It seems quite possible to me."

"But two versions of ourselves?" said Elizabeth. "What, is this a mirror version of our world?"

"What other explanation do you have?" asked Jack. "It all fits. Lady Sparrow used to be a Miss Elizabeth Swann."

"All right, now you're making me feel ill," said Elizabeth. "My..._other_ self married the other you? What about Will? And James Norrington?"

"Well, in this world, I _am_ a charmin', if tyrannical, lord, James Norrington is probably some drunk sailor that no one's ever heard of and the Whelp is the most notorious pirate in the seven seas, savvy?" said the pirate. "And if this is a twisted mirror version of our world, then your father would be a practical and intelligent man. Think about it. I —meaning this Lord James Sparrow— would be the most eligible suitor you could ever have, barring the King of England himself. Believe me, I'm not fond of the idea either, but I'm not one to deny the truth."

"It's pure conjecture that originated from that head of yours, Jack," said Elizabeth. "That's quite different from the truth."

"It be better to have conjecture than nuthin' at all, Mrs. Turner," said Barbossa. "It be quite disturbin' for all of us —Lord Jack Sparra would be a hundred times worse than Lord Cutler Beckett— but we be needin' ta prepare for the worst. And to warn the young admiral that there be a eighty-thousand pound bounty on his head. Well, his other head."

"My God..." Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. She didn't want to think about it. It was too terrible to contemplate. "We have to find them," she said. "Now!"

"How?" said Barbossa. "With all due respect, Missy, we be lacking clues."

"Jack's compass," said Elizabeth. "There's nothing I want more than to find Will, and if that thing still works in this twisted hell, then it's going to point me to my husband."

"Well, there's no harm in tryin' it, unless it points to me again, of course," said Jack as he removed the compass from his belt and handed it over to Elizabeth, who was giving him the fiercest glare she possessed, or trying to. From where Jack was standing, she just looked tired and worried. "Don't worry, luv. I knew it wasn't me you wanted. It was what I stood for. All that flirting? It was just for fun and to pass the time, savvy?"

"Thanks, Jack," said Elizabeth as she accepted the compass. "That was very reassuring." They all crowded around her as she opened the compass.

* * *

Hector Barbossa sat in one of the rickety wooden chairs in a small room that served as the captain's parlour. If he hadn't been so desperate, he wouldn't have come here. This place, Harbour Island, was William Turner's territory. The old buccaneer had his own reservations about the boy. The first and last time they had met, he had been a hot-headed fool who had almost gotten himself and that girl who had been travelling with him killed. However, Hector was desperate. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have even thought of doing this. It was mad. It was impossible. It was idealistic. It could even be called noble. It was an idea that sounded as if it had been conceived in the mind of the man that he was here to see. Perhaps he was a fool to even try this. Perhaps they were all fools, but more often than not, it was the fools who held onto hope when everyone else had long since given into despair. And sometimes, the fools were right.

Heavy, certain footsteps announced the arrival of Captain William Turner. The old pirate had met him eight years ago and saved him —simply because Sparrow had wanted him dead. The boy had grown into a man. Youthful features had hardened, giving him the appearance of a hunter instead of someone's prey. He held himself surely and his shoulders was broad. "Captain Barbossa," he said, greeting his guest warmly, although Hector could detect a wary edge to his voice. Smart lad. He had learned. Finally. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Let's cut the shite, Turner," said Hector. "Only one thing can bring me back to this cursed place."

"Sparrow, no doubt," said William.

"Something has to be done about him, or he'll have us hanging by our necks from his forts," said the older pirate.

"I'm well aware of that, but what do you propose we do?"

"Frankly, I'm surprised you haven't thought of it, Turner, given the fact that you rule your lackeys as if they were the Royal Navy and you were the king. The very basis of our existence is under threat. The time is now ripe. I can smell it in the air and feel it in my old bones. They're asking for a war, young Captain Turner. Are we going to ignore that challenge?"

The younger pirate sat down on a chair opposite Hector. For a while, the two men were silent. Turner crossed his long legs, and then uncrossed them again. Finally, he broke the silence. "I'm listening," he said quietly.

Hector leaned forward. "I hear Sparrow's sailed out to look for you again," he said. "And he won't be back for a while."

* * *

Legolas had had his doubts about Balian's plan, mostly because it sounded overly simple, and also because Balian's plans were almost always flawed. However, the guards let them pass without so much as a glance. The man had been right. They were bored, and were probably thinking of the time when they would be allowed to leave their posts in search of a tankard of ale, and perhaps a woman or two.

Once inside, the town looked ordinary enough. People went about their business, gossiped about their neighbours and about the man who ruled them all with an iron fist. "Don't you find it disturbing that they speak of a Lord Sparrow?" asked Anamaria.

"Just a little, lass," said Gimli. The dwarf had been disguised with a hooded cloak. Not a particularly elaborate disguise, but it seemed to have worked. The small group stayed close together, knowing that if they got separated, their chances of survival were slim. "You don't think that the Fountain is here, do you?"

"If it is, then it's very well hidden," said Will. "Otherwise, all of the townspeople would be immortal, and they're not." They continued to walk on in tense silence, their eyes darting everywhere in search of threats. No one knew where they were going. It seemed a lot like a mad chase to Legolas, but what else could they do except pray that the others were doing exactly the same thing and that sooner or later, they would encounter one another?

* * *

Night was falling, and Achilles was growing impatient. He had never had much patience to begin with. Still, he kept his mouth shut, knowing that they were all thinking what he was thinking. It would be futile to comment on it. Besides, he'd rather be struck down by Zeus than complain before Paris did.

"Well, if he's close enough for the compass to detect his movements, then he must be inside the town."

"This town might be small, Lizzie, but it ain't that small," said Jack. "Y'know, if I were William, I'd be waitin' at the pub because the first place _I'd_ head to in a new place would be the pub and he'd know he'd find me there."

"Who's to say he'd look for you first?" asked Paris.

"Well, it's better to find one than to find none, innit?" asked Jack.

"It be dependin' on who the one be," said Barbossa.

"Well, the Whelp's not you, Hector, so I don't think you'd be an expert on his movements."

The argument would have gone off on a complete tangent and ended up with the two pirates drawing swords and challenging one another to a dishonourable duel in front of everyone, but it never got the chance to reach that point. In the distance, there was a sound of an explosion. At first, no one thought anything of it, but a whistling noise followed it. Instead of fading, it grew louder and louder as if it was drawing closer—

"Duck!" cried Jack. Just then, there was a loud crack and splinters of flaming wood flew everywhere.

* * *

**A/N: **Are you confused yet? :P Hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	7. Strength of Will

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

**Chapter 7: Strength of Will **

The town was burning. Smoke was already rising from several fires. After the preliminary attack, it was time to send in ground forces. William signalled to his lieutenant, a former naval officer who had become disillusioned with the military and particularly with the East India Trading Company. James Norrington was one of the men whom William trusted implicitly. The captain never made any important decisions without first consulting Norrington, or 'Norrie', as the other men liked to call him. William knew that Norrington was the true military man, a real sailor, unlike himself.

"Captain?" said Norrington.

"Are the men ready, James?" asked William as he took his spyglass away from his eye and tucked it back into his belt.

"As ready as they will ever be," said James. William cocked his head to one side and looked at his second in command. He could hear the uncertainty in his lieutenant's voice.

"You know you can say anything to me, James," said the captain. "I value your advice."

"With all due respect, sir, are you sure you want to do this? Now?" Norrington kept his voice low so that the other men could not hear him. "This is...monumental, declaring war on Sparrow. You might as well have declared war on the King of England himself!"

"I know," said William, "but what else can we do? We have been pushed to the brink of our endurance. Someone has to take a stand, and if not me, then who?" He sighed. "I did not ask for this position of power, and I would gladly give it away to someone who could do this better than I, but I got this position, somehow, and I intend to do something with it."

"It's not about your father, is it?" asked Norrington.

"No, it's not," said William. "You know I would never risk the lives of the men for my own personal agenda!"

"Not consciously, sir, but sometimes our emotions get the better of us without us knowing it."

"It's not my emotions," said William, almost hissing. "Look, I know what I'm doing. This is the perfect opportunity. Sparrow is away, if we can strike a blow at the heart of his power and take his wife hostage, then it will undoubtedly damage his men's morale."

"As long as you know what you are doing, Captain, and why," said Norrington. "I'll go and prepare the men."

* * *

Noise assaulted him from all directions. Men were shouting, women were screaming, and children were crying. More cannon balls flew overhead. He knew they had two choices; one, they could get there hell out of there, or two, they could find some place to take shelter. The town seemed to have descended into complete chaos. No, not seemed; it _was_ in complete chaos.

"The chapel!" shouted Jack. Directly across the street from them was a small and simple stone building that the townspeople used for worship. There were not fancy stained glass windows like what they had seen in Rome. In fact, the chapel had very few windows, which just made it even better for the function that the pirate had in mind. Less glass meant stronger walls, which meant that it made a rather good shelter against cannon fire. He dashed across the street, ducking flying splinters of wood and shards of cobblestones. The others followed him, although they did not seem nearly as adept as he was at dodging shrapnel.

"What's going on?!" Paris demanded as he ducked into the sunken stone archway that was the entrance of the sturdy building. Unfortunately, for them at least, the doors of the chapel were locked. Jack and Achilles pulled and shoved and kicked at the doors, but they were well-made, if plain, and they would not budge.

"It's no use," panted the Greek. "We'll just have to make do with what we have."

"I repeat, what is going on?" said Paris. "Why are we under attack?"

"I don't think it's us, per se," said Elizabeth.

"Think about it, princeling," said Jack. "This is, after all, a port run by the East India Tradin' Company. Use your head. It's not solely for the purpose of decoratin' your neck, savvy? Although, that being said, it is a very pretty head." Paris glared at Jack. "Fine, fine. My guess is that the town's either bein' attacked by pirates or the French. I'm puttin' me money on pirates. This is too far south for the French and they were ne'er this good."

Soldiers ran past them, completely oblivious to the fact that there were pirates hiding in the doorway of their chapel for they were too busy shouting to one another. It was hard to hear them above the din of exploding cannonballs and the screams of terrified civilians, but two words stood out clearly enough. The first one came as little surprise. Jack had already guessed that pirates were the people responsible for this raid. The second word, however, caught them by surprise.

"Turner?" said Paris.

"I be thinkin' they be meanin' the other Turner, an' not our admiral," said Barbossa.

"This is so confusing," said Briseis.

"You're not alone in thinking that, luv," said Jack. "I kinda want to meet this version of the Whelp. He sounds stupid. Wait, that's just like our Whelp."

"Yet, he's admiral, whilst you're captain," said Elizabeth, who did not take well to other people calling her husband stupid. At that moment, a huge explosion rocked the vicinity. The resounding crack made their ears ring. Glass shattered. Instinctively, Jack shrank back as much as he could and cringed when he heard the sound of bodies landing on the cobbled streets. Charred flesh splattered onto the stones and the walls of nearby buildings. If Jack and his company had not been protected by the stone archway, who knew what could have happened to them?

"Pate, anyone?" said Jack.

"Not appropriate!" hissed Elizabeth. Jack glanced back at her and then shrugged. It was seldom that she thought he was behaving in an appropriate manner. Instead, he turned his attention back to what was going on in the street.

Curiosity killed the cat, and it could very well kill the Sparrow too, but Jack had never been that good at resisting temptation. He peeked out, for the archway was not only blocking the shrapnel, it was also blocking his line of sight.

Standing in the smoking remains of the explosion and giving out sharp orders to an extremely disciplined band of outlaws was a young man with a very familiar face. Jack let out a loud expletive. James Norrington? Really? Commanding _pirates_? Then he remembered that this was —theoretically— an alternative world in which things had happened quite differently. And unfortunately, this James Norrington had heard him.

The men turned towards the direction of the sound, and when they caught sight of Jack, all of them simultaneously began to snarl, more or less. This Lord James Sparrow definitely was not a popular man, but he'd already known that. It was just plain bad luck that he happened to look just like him.

"And here we go again," said Paris as the pirates surrounded them.

* * *

Will heard the explosion. He didn't know why, but instead of running away from it, his first instinct was to run towards the sound instead. It seemed irrational, but he had learned long ago to listen to his instincts and not to rely on logic alone. Without taking time to analyze the situation, he rounded the corner. The explosion had been close enough so that he had felt the ground vibrate beneath his feet and seen the red stain of the flames' light.

"What are you doing?" he heard Gimli shout, but he did not bother to respond. He rounded the corner with such speed that he almost lost his balance. Someone slammed into him. The two of them fell to the cobblestones in a tangle of limbs and a chorus of shouts, curses and grunts. A booted foot struck him on the side of the face. Will flipped so that his attacker was beneath him. They struggled. Both were equal in strength and equal in skill. Around him, he heard his friends engaging others in battle, although he wasn't quite sure what they were fighting against and what for, but...well, there was some unexplained reason that they were fighting.

Will smashed his forehead down against his the bridge of his opponent's nose. Unfortunately, the man must have anticipated it, or Will's aim simply wasn't good enough, because their foreheads cracked together. There was a flash of white light, a lot of pain and some frustrated cussing. He wasn't sure what he was saying or what the other man were saying. In fact, their voices were indistinguishable from one another.

As Will's vision cleared, he found himself staring down at...well, himself.

* * *

Lord James Sparrow could see the smoke rising from Port Saint James. So far, everything was going according to plan. Hector Barbossa and William Turner thought they had started a revolution, but in reality, they had only put the nooses around their necks. At least Turner had. Barbossa was nowhere to be seen. Old Hector had always been a hard one to catch. If not for him, James would have had Turner —and that sextant— a long time ago. He already had the charts. All he needed were the sextant and the compass. Now the sextant was almost within his grasp. Turner was a fool if he ever thought that James Sparrow would leave any of his strongholds vulnerable to attack. Perhaps that was the point. Turner _was_ a fool; Sparrow was certain that he didn't know the worth of that sextant of his.

The faint booms of cannon fire reached his ears. Let them bombard the port. They could rebuild later, after he had gotten the sextant. That was the most important thing. He snapped his fingers. His lieutenant was at his side in an instant; his men all knew how to respond the most minute of motions. "Make for the port, Mercer," he said. "We have ourselves a pirate to catch."

* * *

William could not comprehend what was going on. This was not possible. He didn't have a brother, much less a twin brother. He didn't even have a family, unless he counted his men and Anna-Maria. "I guess you must be that other William Turner," said the man who had him pinned to the ground.

"The other William Turner? What are you talking about? Who are you?" Maybe he'd hit his head. He'd seen men become completely confused after suffering from head injuries, and unable to tell truth from imagination. Perhaps this was merely a hallucination, except hallucinations were not supposed to be this heavy or solid, right?

"The name's William Turner —_Admiral _Turner, if you please, or Will, if you prefer Christian names," said the other man. "You call off your men, and I'll explain, or endeavour to." He even sounded just like William, at least as far as his voice was concerned.

"Pardon me, but it seems that _your_ men are doing more damage than mine are," said William. "But I shall call them off if you promise not to harm us." It was true. That small man —was that actually a dwarf from some Viking tale?— had already taken down three of his crew members and seemed to be starting on a fourth. And...what the hell was Anna-Maria doing here?! He'd left her back on Harbour Island, telling her to take up his place as the default governor of that pirate stronghold until he returned. She hadn't been happy about it, of course, but she would _never_ disobey his orders, would she? Next to her was —oh God, there was _another_ man who looked just like him! Except not quite like him; he had a scar running down the side of his face and he was broader of shoulder. Then, well, this was odd. A _blond_ version of himself. He really must be hallucinating. There was no other explanation for it.

"Well, my friends are very good," said the man who had been pinning him down. He got off, and extended a hand to William, who took it as a gesture of peace and accepted the help.

"And they also look just like you...us," said the young captain, looking around. He turned to his crew, who were still eying the strangers warily. "You heard me. Stand down!" He appraised the man standing before him. His dress indicated that he was also a buccaneer, but the material of his shirt was of a very high quality, almost fit for a king. Even Sparrow would not hesitate to wear it if it had not been cut in such a style. The other four, including the woman who looked a lot like Anna-Maria, were wearing outlandish styles that he had never seen before. Who were these people? Where had they come from? And was it simply a coincidence that three of them looked like him, or was there some deeper meaning? Some devilry was at work here, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

Then he became completely distracted as he heard someone shout his name. Well, a lot of someones. Redcoats poured out of every alley and every doorway, armed to the teeth, to use a cliché. It would only be a matter of time before they were surrounded by an impenetrable thicket of metal. A trap. He should have known. It had seemed all too easy, Sparrow leaving the centre of his power vulnerable. He should have known! Now his men were going to die because of his lack of good judgement!

"Captain!" shouted the bosun, a man by the name of Fisher. He'd never divulged his Christian name, for some unknown reason. "What do we do?!"

"Get word to the First Mate! Retreat! Back to the ship!" shouted William. He looked around, desperately searching for an escape route. There was none. They were completely surrounded, and the only way to get out was to fight their way through. There was nothing for it. He charged.

* * *

Damn, Norrington was good; too good for Jack's liking. He dodged as the other man lunged forward. The tip of his blade nicked the pirate's hat, causing him to curse in five different languages. "You're supposed to be dead, dammit!" he snarled. "An' you scratched me hat!"

"Unluckily for you, Sparrow, I'm not so easy to kill," said Norrington, or rather, the other Norrington. "I don't forget either!" He nimbly sidestepped out of the way of Jack's sword as the pirate jabbed at him. Jack almost growled in frustration. Too bad there wasn't sand that he could kick into the man's face, and the monkey was too far away for him to grab it and use it as some sort of living ammunition. From the sound of the screeching, Barbossa had already thrown his monkey at someone anyway. They might be outnumbered, but they had good warriors, and the pirates were undoubtedly confused about the 'Lady Sparrow' who was wielding a sword and dressed in breeches.

"Well, you got the wrong Sparrow, mate, savvy?" said Jack as he jumped out of the way of a wide swipe. He didn't exactly want to kill this pirate version of Norrington, but the man was trying to kill him! What else could he do?

"There's only ever been two Sparrows, and one's dead!"

"I'm the third one! An' whaddya mean one's dead?!"

Norrington looked as if he was about to answer, but a shout made him turn. That was all the time Jack needed to kick his legs out from under him. The man fell, and before he knew anything, Jack had his sword to his throat. "Stop, or I kill the man!" Hopefully, disciplined pirates would translate into pirates with heart, or else this hostage situation would not be beneficial to anyone.

"You're gonna kill us all anyway!" shouted another of the men.

"An' why would I do that? Waste o' time, innit?"

"If you don't want to kill us, then why set the trap?"

"I told you, wrong Sparrow! And what trap?" Perhaps he would have gotten an answer, or perhaps he wouldn't, but it didn't matter. The sound of coordinated booted feet on cobblestones soon reached his ears, along with the shouting of commanding officers as they told their men to take their positions. Someone had obviously lured these pirates into Port Saint James and then surrounded them there on unfamiliar turf.

"You know what?" said Jack, looking down at the glaring Norrington. "I can get you out o' this, but you gotta give me a good reason to help you, savvy?"

* * *

He couldn't let others bear the consequences of his mistakes. He simply wouldn't be able to live with it; that was the type of man he was. Others might call him foolish, but to him, it was simply a matter of honour and responsibility. It wasn't fair that others should suffer simply because he had been too stupid to see that this was a trap. The noose of Redcoats was getting tighter. His men —and the strangers— were defending themselves admirably, but it was only a matter of time before they were all captured. He couldn't let that happen.

The weights in his pocket knocked against his hip, reminding him of their presence. William hesitated. Those were not meant to be used, ever. He only carried them with him because of his promise to his father; he would rather destroy the sextant, and himself along with it, than let Sparrow take it. It was a matter of honour, once again. Still, he was becoming desperate. Another lead ball flew past him, and yet another of his crew fell. There weren't that many of them to begin with.

The young man sent up a prayer to whoever might be listening. He sincerely hoped that someone was listening, although how effective a pirate's prayer would be, he did not know. At any rate, it seemed that God never answered prayers, or else He would have delivered them from this Hell a long time ago. He dropped his sword, took out the explosives from his pockets, and then snatched a torch from one of his men.

"You see this?" he shouted to the Redcoats. "Either we all live, or by God, I swear that I'll take you with me if I die!"

The soldiers paused, uncertain. They didn't want to die. Technically, this was not their fight. They just wanted to put food in their families' bellies, that was all, and William knew that. For a moment, soldiers and pirates stood staring at each other, or rather, staring at William's bombs. He knew what they were thinking. Was he mad enough to do it? "Move aside," he said, "and then we can all go home."

"We have orders, Turner," said one of the officers. "You know that."

"I do," said William simply.

"We can make a deal," said the officer. "You hand yourself over, and I let your men go. It's not a bad trade; your life for theirs. What do you say?"

William remained silent, although he was weighing his options. In the end, it was the sextant that Sparrow wanted. Killing him would only be an act of spite. But if the sextant never fell into Sparrow's hands, then perhaps... But to whom could he entrust it? He'd kept it a secret all these years. No one knew about it, except for Anna-Maria, and she wasn't here. At any rate, how was he to pass it along to someone without the Redcoats noticing that there was something amiss?

"Don't listen to him, Cap'n," said Fisher. "I ain't afraid to die by your side!" A murmur of agreement rippled through his men. They would never let him do something so stupid. Even if he did hand himself over, they would never leave. It was so problematic, and so bloody complicated. He saw the officer smirking, and all of a sudden, things became very clear. He would rather fall upon his own sword than hand himself over to that self-satisfied bastard. Call it the sin of pride, but at the moment, his dignity, and the loyalty of his men, were the only things he had left. He was not going to let go of either one easily.

"I have another idea," said the captain. He lit the fuses of the bombs and then, drawing his arm back, he threw them directly at the officer who had addressed him. The bombs exploded. The Redcoats scattered.

"Now!" shouted William. They pushed through, like a blade cutting through flesh. Sword met bayonet. Heads were cleaved open by the axe-wielding dwarf and the Frenchman with the cumbersome longsword. Arrows flew. Shots rang out. It was complete chaos, and it was their one chance at survival. The newcomers fought back to back with William's crew as if they were part of the crew already. And, he had to admit, they really were good, just as that other William Turner had said.

Blood splattered onto his face as he ran another Redcoat through. He could taste the metallic saltiness on his lips. The pirates had, through some unspoken agreement, formed an arrowhead formation and were pushing through the weakest point of the ring of Redcoats. William and his other self were at the front of that formation.

A shot rang out. Pain flared in his shoulder and he just managed to bite back a cry. His sword fell to the ground with a metallic clatter. Hot liquid ran down his arm to drip from his fingertips. William gritted his teeth. The men could not know. No one could know that he was wounded, or else they would try to protect him and they would all end up dead. Someone thrust a bayonet into his face. He dodged sideways and then grabbed the weapon with his other hand, twisting it out of his assailant's grasp. It was a losing battle. No matter how close they were to breaking through the ranks of the Redcoats, they would never break through the ranks, at least not without divine assistance.

"What is going on here?! Stand down at once!"

Everyone, soldier and pirate alike, froze, and then slowly turned in the direction of the voice. Standing there, with Norrington _and_ an entire company of Redcoats behind him, was Sparrow.

* * *

**A/N: **And it becomes even _more _confusing. I have a very bad case of writer's block, so I apologize for the length of the chapter, and also for any mistakes I might have made and did not manage to pick up. Explanations should come later, once everyone is relatively safe.


	8. Jack and James

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them in the near future when I'm done, savvy? **

**Calil Gadien: **I was apologizing for the shortness. Usually, my chapters are 5k words or thereabouts. I hope I didn't get you into trouble with your teachers. ;)

**Chapter 8: Jack and James**

Will wondered how Jack planned to clean this up, once the Redcoats found out that he wasn't _actually_ Lord James Sparrow, but Captain Jack Sparrow. In fact, he wasn't quite sure how he had managed to trick them in the first place, seeing as he was wearing beads in his hair and his beard had been braided. Then he wondered whether Jack had even thought about cleaning up. Perhaps he simply planned to make things up as he went along, as per usual. It wouldn't be the first time the pirate had gotten out of trouble by acting spontaneously, and they had been in trouble —and gotten out of it— enough times for Will to feel just a little better about their chances of surviving this. Just a little.

"Milord, I thought—" began one of the officers, but Jack held up a hand, effectively cutting him off.

"I've changed my mind," he said very deliberately and slowly, enunciating each syllable clearly and with the perfect accent. "Mister Norrington and i have come to an understanding. William Turner is much more useful to me alive than dead."

Before Will could think of how to react to this little declaration, William surged past him. If the others had not reached out to hold him back, he would have pounced on Norrington right there and then, wounded shoulder or not. "You treacherous bastard!" he snarled. "I trusted you! I _trusted_ you!"

Norrington and Jack exchanged glances. The former seemed uncertain about what to do, whilst the latter was trying to —subtly— make a series of odd faces to convey ideas about what he ought to say. Either Norrington had more intelligence than they had given him credit for, or Jack was an excellent non-verbal communicator —Will was leaning towards the former option— because after a brief awkward pause, Norrington cleared his throat.

"You were a fool to trust anyone," he said, "and, luckily for me, it just made my task a lot easier."

"You've been planning this from the beginning?" whispered William. The 'betrayal' had hit him hard, and after the initial outburst, he seemed to have lost all strength. "Then why did you warn me against coming?"

"Because I knew that you would not listen," said Norrington. He was on a roll now. "I was just playing the part of the loyal lieutenant. I could not have you finding out before the time was right, could I?"

"And he did very well," said Jack. "Now, Captain Turner, you and I, accompanied by these _fine_ gentlemen, will go to your ship. I believe we have much to discuss. Your crew too, not that they would let you go alone, I am sure. They are a rabble of dedicated fools. Come now, Turner. You do not want to resist, believe me. I'd hate to have gone to all this effort to spare your life only to you force me to kill you."

* * *

William was seething, and Will could tell. Every muscle in the man's body was tensed, as if he was ready to make a break for it, even if it would be completely futile to do so. He supposed that William was not so different from him, despite being his 'other' self. He knew exactly what he would have done in William's situation, and he would not have complied nicely with Jack's demands. He had to do something. "What he says is true, Captain Turner," he murmured. He would have liked to tell William that the man standing before him was _Jack_ Sparrow, buccaneer extraordinaire and possibly Lord James Sparrow's newest worst nightmare. Simply because he _was_ Captain Jack Sparrow. However, none of them could afford to give the game away; therefore, the fewer who knew, the better.

"You're in league with him, aren't you?" whispered William. He was quiet, and he sounded calm, but Will almost winced at the venom in his voice. "I should have known. Only Sparrow would be able to pull such a trick. Other self indeed—Barbossa! I should have known, you lying bastard! You knew! You led my men into this trap!"

Barbossa looked startled for a moment, but he recovered very quickly. The old pirate had not survived this long on the high seas without having an extremely keen wit. "Ah, 'twas only too easy, Turner," said Barbossa, even though he had absolutely no idea what part he was supposed to have played in all this.

"Give up, Turner," said Jack. "You're surrounded. The best thing that you can do, both for yourself and your men, is cooperate. I can promise you that your men can keep their lives. It's you that I want."

"You don't want me," scoffed William. "You want what I have, and do you think I'll just let you have it?" His was the tone of a man who thought that he was going to die for certain. Will was beginning to feel quite sorry for his other self. He knew what it felt like to be in such a situation, and even if it wasn't real, he would have liked to spare the other man the pain. He didn't deserve it.

"That's exactly what I think, my dear Wh-illiam," said Jack. Whoops. Almost slipped there. James Sparrow did not sound like the sort of man who would call anyone 'Whelp', at least not directly. "Gentlemen," he said, indicating Will, Achilles, and the others who were definitely not in the service of Lord James Sparrow. "Bring the good captain. The rest of you, guard the port." He turned on his heel, looking every bit the pompous lord, apart from the bandanna and the braided beard and hte hair ornaments. Actually, Jack had always always been just a little bit pompous, only this time, he didn't have to hide it. Will rolled his eyes. His friend was obviously enjoying this, perhaps a bit too much.

"Yes sir," he said. He might as well play his role of the crooked minion to the full.

* * *

William Turner's ship, the uncreatively named _Buccaneer_, was not a grand vessel by any means; it tended more towards the practical. There were no carvings on the rails and the figurehead was a very simple carving of a blindfolded woman in a flowing dress, wearing a crested helmet, holding a longsword with the tip pointed downwards in one hand and a balanced scale in the other.

"Lady Justice," said Jack. "How apt for a band of law-breaking pirates." He turned to the remainder of the Redcoats. "Stay here. I only need these fine gentlemen to accompany me." He jerked his head at Norrington's men and in Will's direction.

"You seem very sure of yourself, Sparrow," said William. "Aren't you afraid that I'll break free and slit your throat? Because, believe me, I would like nothing more than to do that."

"If you were capable of doing it, you wouldn't have told me," said Jack, flashing a very self-assured grin at the furious William. "You are wounded, Captain Turner, and being guarded by the best mercenaries that money can hire. I think you overestimate your abilities severely." With that, Jack clambered up the rope ladder. Norrington followed, and then William, at sword-point. The man spared Will an acerbic glance.

"Don't make it any more difficult for yourself than necessary," said Will. "Believe me, it is difficult enough already."

William looked as if he was about to spit in Will's face —Will would never hear the end of it if he did— but he thought better of it. Perhaps he felt that Will wasn't even worth his scorn. During other times, Will might have cared, but who knew when the real James Sparrow would return? As long as William got onto the boat, he wasn't about to complain.

* * *

William hoisted himself onto the deck, fully aware of the fact that there was a sword at his back, and the man holding the sword would be more than happy to use it if he did not comply. It wasn't his own life that he was worried about, but the lives of his men, at least those who were still loyal to him and would probably remain that way unto death. As the last of Sparrow's mercenaries climbed aboard, Sparrow suddenly seemed to change before his very eyes. No, his appearance did not change, but his accent did, and so did his gestures. Gone was the pompous lord in outlandish garb. Instead, this man was gesticulating wildly with his hands as if he were drunk.

"Weigh anchor!" he was shouting. "Hard to portside! Let's put some distance between ourselves and this hellhole, shall we?"

"You heard him, gentlemen!" said Norrington. "Get to it! Hurry, before Sparrow finds out that we have duped him!"

Duped Sparrow? But Sparrow was standing right there! Well, standing was not the right word, for he was sauntering all over the place, waving his hands at sailors who were not doing what they ought to be doing. William had not the time to react. His breath hitched in his throat. Miss Swann! What was she doing here, and dressed like _that_? Even more surprisingly, when she saw his other self, she ran —well, limped— into his arms and kissed him so passionately that William felt his face growing hot.

"Captain." William tore his gaze from that very strange sight and turned to face Norrington, the man who had sold him to Sparrow, except there was definitely more to this story than a simple betrayal. For one, no one was paying him much attention at all, not even Sparrow. In fact, Sparrow and Barbossa were having a shouting match and pretty much ignoring everyone else, leaving Will to tell the crew what to do.

"Mister Norrington," said William. "Do you have something to say to me?"

"I'm sorry for having lied to you," said Norrington. "But it was the only way to get us out of there. That Sparrow there made me an offer, and I took it. I hope you will forgive me."

"That will depend on what sort of deal you have made with this Sparrow," said William.

"Well, he wanted to get out of there. Our interests coincided. I saw no harm in it," said Norrington. "Something odd is at work here, and I have no doubt that these men —and these ladies— are in the middle of it. However, I do not think that they mean to harm us. If anything, they can explain to us what is going on, and perhaps we can use this against Sparrow —James Sparrow, that is. I hope that you do not consider this to be a betrayal."

"I hardly know what to think anymore," said William. "I've been betrayed, then found out that I have not really been betrayed. Sparrow is not Sparrow, and there is another one of me out there, one who is the lover of Elizabeth Swann." He winced as he tried to lift his arm, forgetting that his shoulder had been shot.

"Little surprise, Captain," said Norrington. "If I were in your state, I would not be thinking very clearly either."

* * *

James Sparrow was beyond furious. He had the sextant within his grasp, only to be outplayed by an imposter?! He surveyed the mess that was Port Saint James. All this, for another man to just take away the sextant, and more importantly, what it stood for? He grabbed one of his hapless officers by the lapels of his coat. "Describe him to me," he hissed.

"He...he looked just like you, sir!" stammered the man. James Sparrow's ruthlessness was legendary. Some whispered that he drank the blood of his enemies, not that it was true, because it simply wouldn't do him any good. "And he sounded like you too! Please sir, I thought I was following your orders!"

"And did it not occur to you that he was an imposter?" Sparrow's voice was calm, but no one made the mistake of thinking that he was withholding his wrath. The air was thick with tension as the men held their breaths, waiting to see what Lord Sparrow would do to a man who was unfortunate enough to be fooled by someone who merely looked and sounded a lot like Sparrow, but wasn't really Sparrow.

"He...he was so like you!" cried the man, his voice having risen by an octave from fear.

"Perhaps, to a blind man," said Sparrow. "What use does a man have for his eyes when he cannot see properly with them?"

"Milord! Please!" All the pleas in the world were wasted, for Sparrow was not a man who capitulated to the temptation of mercy. He had been merciful once, and he had paid dearly for it. He would not make the same mistake again.

* * *

The island that served as William's home base was a veritable natural fortress, much like their own Shipwreck Cove, except it lacked the easy rowdiness that was a characteristic of the latter. Everything seemed so sombre, from the grey granite cliffs to the few buildings on the island. The dock was a sorry-looking thing that had been built from the parts of wrecked ships. Now, Jack had sailed down the River Styx in the _Flying Dutchman_, and he had to say that he felt exactly the same way about 'Harbour Island', as they called this place.

"We try our best," said William tiredly as they sailed into the sorry looking port, "but I cannot say that it is enough." During the journey, he had spoken very little, except to give directions to the men who had more or less taken over his ship. Of course, Jack had not mistaken his silence for passivity. In Will, such silence meant that he was either observing or plotting something, and he imagined that William would not be too different.

"All these people, are they..." began Will.

"Pirates? No, not as such," said William. "They are outlaws, according to Sparrow's definition, but these are just regular people who desire to be free of his tyrannical rule."

"Why doesn't the king do anything about Sparrow?" asked Elizabeth. "I mean, what he has been doing cannot be lawful."

"Sparrow is the law," spat William. "I don't know what the king does, but he certainly is no obstacle to Sparrow."

Jack raised an eyebrow at that comment and said nothing. He probably wasn't William's favourite person at the moment, and as improbable as it sounded, he did know when to shut up. There were murmurs as they disembarked from the ship, and then silence when Jack came down the gangplank. He knew they were all staring at him, and he knew exactly why. However, no one made any move to attack him, probably because their captain had not done so. Still, he could not help but feel the antagonism that was aimed at him. For once, it actually wasn't his fault.

"William!" The woman's voice cut through the tense silence, effectively shattering it. The crowds parted to let her through, and Jack's jaw dropped as she ran up to William as if no one else existed.

"Well," said Anamaria. "She's got better taste than me, and that's all I'm goin' ta say." Needless to say, Jack wasn't really quite happy with that comment.

* * *

For such a small place, the hospitality could not be faulted. William's servants —insofar as they were servants. On their captain's orders, all the 'guests' had been granted rooms, albeit small ones, and William had also given express orders for his men not to harass Jack, which, given everything that he had suffered at the hands of Jack's other self, was quite generous of him. Then again, the man could just be intelligent enough to realize that James' actions had nothing whatsoever to do with Jack.

As for Balian himself, he found that looking like the captain had its benefits, for the men —and the few women— treated him with something that bordered on reverence. It was obvious that they loved William, although that came as little surprise, as William was actually quite like Will in temperament.

They were now seated in the slightly bigger room that served as William's study. The bullet had been removed from the man's shoulder and he had his arm in a sling, but he looked decidedly better than he had before, possibly because there were not a bunch of redcoats on his tail. Norrington sat to his right, cradling a tankard of rum. Various members of the crew were also here, including the ever loyal Fisher. The man was not much to look at, with his gaunt face and scrawny frame, but they knew well enough not to underestimate him. He was like an overprotective guard dog when it came to William's welfare.

Much to Jack's delight, there was a large supply of rum on the island, mainly because they produced it themselves. "We have a few sugar plantations on the island," William had explained. "Many of the people on this island are escaped slaves, and most of them aren't cut out to be sailors."

Anamaria tensed, and beside, her, Jack stopped savouring his rum. "So you make them work on your plantations?" he asked, his voice unusually hard. It seemed to Balian that the room suddenly grew colder. The woman who looked just like Anamaria, and whose name differed from hers only in spelling, placed a hand on William's shoulder.

"They choose to work on the plantations," said William. "I would never keep slaves, nor would I suffer any to be kept."

"He makes life difficult for the slave traders," said Anna-Maria, addressing the newcomers for the first time. " When they turned to look at her, she lifted her chin a little higher. "He saved me."

"You?" Jack blurted out. "But _I_ was supposed to—never mind."

"Jack saved _me_," said Anamaria.

More silence. Everyone regarded one another, some with interest and others with unspoken challenges. No one moved. No one wanted to be the first. At last, William cleared his throat. "I think explanations are in order," he said.

"I agree," said Will, "and since we promised explanations, I think it is only right for us to tell you our tale."

* * *

Will's narrative was short, sharp, and to the point, although that did not stop William from becoming confused by the convoluted tale. Many times, he stopped to ask questions, and many times, the answers that he got only confused him more. None of this made any sense! Elves? Medieval barons? Rings of power? Glowing jewels? Immortality? Another parallel dimension of existence? It all sounded like the ramblings of a lunatic, and yet, Will did not seem to be a lunatic, unlike the other Sparrow. Still, how else could he explain the existence of these strange people, four of whom had his face?

"So you are saying that you came here to search for this fountain, which you believe will give this elf back his immortality?" he asked.

"That's pretty much it," said Jack Sparrow. William still wasn't quite comfortable with his presence, even though he could see that Jack Sparrow could not be more different than James Sparrow, he was still reminded of the man who had caused all his troubles.

"How do you even know that this fountain even exists?" asked Norrington. "It seems highly improbable to me."

"Oh, ye of little faith," said Jack, probably a little too flamboyantly. Eyebrows were raised, and there were a few muted snorts. The 'other' Hector Barbossa was smirking. Jack ignored them all and continued with his speech. He seemed to be quite adept at ignoring his audience. "Give me the map!" A circular map, drawn on a scroll of bamboo slats that had been threaded together, was produced. William frowned. He had never seen anything quite so peculiar. Jack unrolled the map. "Behold!" he cried, pointing to a spot on the map. "The Fountain of Youth or, if you wish to sound more learned, _Aqua de Vida_, which is pretty much the same thing except in Latin."

"You came all this way based on a picture on a highly inaccurate map?" said Norrington. "Are you mad?"

"Just a little bit," said Jack. "And no, I didn't come all this way based on a picture on a map, although I would have if I were desperate enough. Fortunately, I know someone who's actually found the Fountain and drunken from it."

"Who?" asked William, who could not help but be intrigued by this highly improbably tale. No, not just improbable; impossible.

"My father, Captain Teague Sparrow," said Jack.

"Who?" repeated Norrington.

"Teague Sparrow?" said Fisher. "Actually, I think I heard about him once. One o' Barbossa's men stopped at the dock t'restock, and the ole first mate mentioned somethin' 'bout a Teague Sparra. Didn't think much of it at the time, since all Sparras were the same t'me. Said somethin' 'bout a magic compass, though, that pointed at whatever it is that a man wanted most. Load o' codswallop."

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, Mister Fisher," said Jack quietly.

"You haven't got yet another picture of a compass to show us, have you?" asked Norrington.

"No," said Jack. "Much more better!"

"Better your grammar, I hope," muttered Norrington.

Jack pulled his compass from his belt with a flourish and then held it aloft for everyone to marvel at, except no one seemed to be very impressed. The pirate looked disappointed. "This is the compass he was talkin' about!" he said.

"I see a compass," said William, "but does it really do what you say it does?"

"I've used it to locate the heart of Davy Jones," said Elizabeth.

"The heart of Davy Jones?" whispered Fisher. The man's face grew pale, and he quickly gulped down the rum in his tankard to steady himself.

"Davy Jones is real?" asked Norrington. "You don't actually expect us to believe this, do you?" His face was full of incredulity, and he seemed to be torn between exasperation and the urge to laugh.

"More real than you can imagine," said Will, wincing at a memory that seemed fresh in his mind. William wondered what had happened between the man and Davy Jones, and he had been about to ask, but he thought better of it. He didn't want to pry into matters that had nothing to do with the problem at hand.

"He's gone now, of course, replaced by one of our own," said Jack. "But anyway, back on topic. Yes, the compass works. No, I don't know how. Yes, you can test it for yerselves, but only as long as I can watch you."

"May I?" asked William, holding out his hand for the compass. Jack seemed to hesitate, but then he placed the compass onto William's palm. The lacquer that coated the wooden shell of the compass was smooth. Its surface was painted with many colourful pagan patterns. Voodoo, some would call them. There were strange carvings too; runes of some sort. He paid them no heed. Most of these objects were decorated with strange markings. Most of the time, they had no meaning. He opened the compass. The needle was spinning slowly and steadily, and it was showing no sign of stopping. He glanced up at Jack. "It points to what I want? Why, it does not point to anything!"

"That's because you don't know what you want, mate," said Jack. "And yes, if you want somethin' abstract, like peace or love or somethin' else like that, then it's not goin' to work. You have to focus on something that you can grasp or feel. Take Lizzie there. She didn't actually want the heart of Davy Jones, savvy, but she needed the heart to save her beloved Will —long story, and no one ever agrees wiv my version. So, think of something tangible that you really really want, and then the compass will point to it, savvy?"

William thought about it. What did he want most, apart from the chance to live a peaceful life and raise his own family? He didn't know. Perhaps the woman that Sparrow had taken from him? Then again, she had never really been his in the first place. She had smiled at him, spoken to him once or twice, but her father had ensured that she spent her time with the right sort of people, and a blacksmith's penniless apprentice had definitely not been amongst those. He glanced at Elizabeth —the other one— and saw the way she was holding onto Will's hand. Lucky bastard. He shook his head and smiled. "I'm afraid I am not the best candidate for testing the compass," he said.

"Nonsense," said Jack. "Surely you want something. Revenge, perhaps?"

Damn it! Jack had known him for only a few days and already he seemed to know him better than most people. As if the other man had read his thoughts, he gave a wave of his hand. "Nah, I didn't really read yer mind. You Turners are all made out of the same stuff, and I've known this one—" He jerked his thumb at Will. "—for a while."

Will rolled his eyes at Jack. Obviously, he was used to this sort of teasing. It seemed like a fantasy, to see a Sparrow and a Turner behaving as if they were almost brothers.

"So," continued Jack. "What do you need to avenge yourself? Come on, Whelp—I mean, William. It can't be that hard."

It really wasn't. He needed Sparrow to be in front of him; that was all. And the needle stopped.

* * *

James undid the buttons of his coat and cast it off, tossing it to his butler, who deftly caught it without a word and then left with a bow. He sank into one of the couches in his sitting room, pouring himself a good measure of scotch from the decanter that sat on one of the ornately carved low cedar tables that had been specially imported from the Far East. An imposter. Who would have thought? He certainly hadn't expected this, and he hated not being able to see exactly what was coming at him. He had gotten to where he was by knowing his enemies' moves before they even knew that they were going to make them.

"James?" He turned. Eliza. Her beauty had not waned, but he was James Sparrow; whatever he had, he simply wanted more. She had been intriguing once, when she had been Elizabeth Swann and he had been pursuing her. Now she was conquered territory. "Oh, I was so frightened when they attacked, but I knew you would come."

"Of course I did," said James. He threw back his head and downed the contents of his glass in one gulp before pouring more. "Did you think I was going to let a rabble of pirates get the better of me?"

Eliza shook her head. Like everyone else, she was afraid of him. She didn't use to be afraid, but he supposed he had that effect on everyone. Except Turner, and now this new nameless nemesis. "Why don't you go to bed, my dear?" he said. "It has been a long day, and you should sleep off the shock of the attack."

Her skirts rustled as she rose. He pecked her on the side of her mouth; an obligatory gesture more than anything. She had long since ceased to be

"Good night, James," she said.

* * *

The Fountain of Youth. These strangers. This odd compass in his hand. William felt that they were all connected, but how? He wracked his mind, trying to find the root of his thoughts. Why did he feel they were connected? Perhaps it was something that he'd heard during his travels —a euphemism for his attempts to escape from Sparrow's clutches before he'd founded this little settlement on Harbour Island. No, it was something else. Bill. His father had said something about a secret; an ancient magic that mortal men were not supposed to know about, and the sextant.

Yes, the sextant. He remembered now. How could he not, when he had turned it over in his hands so many times, wondering why his father had died for it? The sextant bore those same markings.

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed it.


	9. Madmen

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize.

**Chapter 9: Madmen**

Paris might not have been a very good warrior, but he could not deny that he was very good at reading people —and had mentioned that to others, from time to time. A man had to boast about _something_, after all. He had a feeling that their new acquaintance knew more than he let on about Jack's compass. Why else would he be looking at it so closely, and with such an expression? Oh, he was _trying_ to hide it, but William was just like Will in this aspect; rather easy to read. Of course, Paris wasn't going to make William tell them just what he knew. Not yet. He wasn't some Greek brute who knew nothing of subtle persuasion. The man probably didn't trust them enough to tell them, and to directly ask him would only rouse his suspicions, which was exactly why the Trojan prince wasn't going to tell anyone about his observations, at least not for now.

William handed the compass back to Jack almost reverently. "How did you come by such a curious artefact?" he asked. Ah, another man who did not understand the value of talking around the question in order to ask it. It made him so much easier to deal with. Paris rather liked being the most cunning one in the group, for it meant he could usually anticipate what was going to happen next, and thus eliminate the disadvantage of shock.

"'twas something that I attained durin' me travels, savvy?" said Jack. He sounded so very mysterious that fif the others had not known better, they would have thought that he had traversed the Underworld to find it instead of bartering it from Tia Dalma for the gods knew what. Actually, Paris would very much like to know what Jack had given to the goddess of the sea in return for that compass.

"You must have travelled quite a bit, then," said Norrington.

"Aye, that I have," said Jack with grin. "You couldn't even begin to imagine the places I've been."

"I wouldn't, except your friend told us a condensed version of your travels," said Norrington mildly.

"Well, the Whelp couldn't do them justice, an' I had a life before I met him!"

"I'm sure you did, Jack," said Will mildly. "I'm sure you did."

* * *

He couldn't sleep; there was too much on his mind. With the newcomers' arrival on Harbour Island, something had changed, and not just the number of people living there. William wasn't sure what exactly had changed, apart from the fact he now knew that his sextant was imbued with supernatural powers. However, he could feel it. It was as if a fire had wrapped itself around his bones and the very core of his being, infusing him with a sense of excitement and trepidation for something that he didn't even know about; he had never felt this way before.

Even though he ought to be exhausted, he felt wide awake. His heart was beating loudly within his chest and he could feel the throbbing of his pulse in his fingertips. It was as if he had, all of a sudden become very aware of who he was, what he was, and his place in the world. He felt as if he was looking down upon himself from the sky and watching all the other pieces of the puzzle fall into place around him, although the images on those pieces were blurry. There was simply a sense of completion.

He had no reason to feel this way; at least, no rational reason. He still knew very little about the magic of the compass and the sextant. The compass pointed to that which the one holding it desired the most, but what did the sextant do? Most sextants simply determine one's position, as well as tell the time using the angle between the sun or the moon and some other celestial body. More importantly than the sextant's function, what would happen if the compass was used in conjunction with the sextant? And if Sparrow was hunting him because he had the sextant, then would he hunt Jack as well once he found out that Jack had the compass. That would certainly be awkward, although amusing. If there was anyone who could outplay Sparrow at his own game, then it was Jack. William might not have known him for a long time, but he could tell that much.

This led him to another train of thought. Could they use Jack as some sort of weapon against Sparrow? Perhaps put him in Sparrow's place to create chaos behind the East India Trading Company's frontline? It occurred to him that Jack was not someone who could be 'used' in an exploitative and conventional way with no guarantee for some sort of profit, but if he could somehow make a deal with Jack... What did he have that Jack would want? Perhaps Jack would be interested in the sextant; the only question that remained was whether he trusted these strange men enough to let them know of the sextant's existence. After all, he had promised his father that he would keep it safe, and William Turner was a man who took such promises very seriously. Not even all of his crew knew why he was being hunted; only Norrington, Anna-Maria and Fisher were privy to this information.

He wandered outside with no idea where he was going. He simply did not feel like remaining indoors. The night was clear, and the air fresh, with only the smell of brine and the faintest hint of woodsmoke to flavour it. He liked that smell; it was a smell of peace and calm. He didn't have enough of that in his life. He simply walked, paying little heed to his surroundings. No one else was about, but he somehow felt as if he was not alone. His short stroll led him to the edge of the atoll; to the single stretch of beach. Water gently lapped at the sand; the sound of the waves was like a whisper from some power beyond this world, striving to tell him something, except William could not comprehend it. The moon hung in the sky, round and full, like the holy wafer during communion. Somehow, the outlaw felt as if he was being offered something, or that he was about to make a covenant with someone. Jack? One of the others?

As he watched the sea, and the moon's distorted reflection on its surface, he became aware of someone else in the vicinity. It was the very same presence that he had felt whilst walking towards the beach. It was strange, and he was wary, but he was not afraid, at least not for his own safety. William had long since given up being afraid of life or death. He looked around, and finally spotted someone standing so still on the dock that he could have been mistaken for a statue. In the moonlight, he looked as if he had been cast from silver —no— white gold. It was one of the newcomers, the pale one who had said very little during the entire exchange in his study. He was staring at sky as if he was searching for something, or expecting something to happen. Of course, nothing did, but it did not stop him from keeping his eyes on the stars.

"What do you look for?" William asked as he approached him from behind. His companions had said that he was an elf, but William did not believe it. He had long since ceased to believe in fairy tales, for there were none in life. Instead, life seemed to be full of horror stories. At first, the other man —if he could be called that— seemed startled, but he quickly regained composure. Obviously, this was someone who was used to alarming situations and did not panic easily.

"What do we all look for?" he asked in return. His voice was silky, firm and melodious, and he spoke with a strange lyrical lilt that William had not encountered before during all his travels. He was soothed by that voice, although he did not know why. "I search for answers, and perhaps a little bit of hope."

"Indeed, that is more than what some of us dare to hope for," said William. "The hope, that is. Men will never stop wanting answers." For a while, he stood beside the golden one —Legolas, his name was; a very alien name— and stared at the stars with him, trying to see what the other saw in them. He could not. Perhaps he was too jaded to see. "They say you are of the Fair Folk," he said at last, breaking the relatively comfortable silence. Well, as comfortable a silence as could exist between two men who had only met a few days ago and who had exchanged barely more than two sentences.

"I suppose you could call my kind that," said Legolas.

"Do you really expect me to believe that you are actually an elf?" inquired the young man.

"Considering the world in which you grew up, no," said Legolas. "If you did, I would take you for a simpleton or a dreamer."

"I am neither."

"I am aware of that; I did not say you were."

"What are you? Why do you say you are an elf when you are not?"

"I never said I wasn't an elf."

"You said you didn't expect me to believe you."

"Whether you believe it or not is one thing. What I am is another matter entirely, and not dependent on your beliefs."

"So you are admitting that you are an elf?"

"Why deny what I am? I have never had a problem with my race."

"You're toying with me." William was certain. Either this Legolas and his friends were completely mad, or they were making a merry joke out of him. He didn't like either option.

"I am not, but your scepticism is understandable, if somewhat exasperating." Legolas lifted a slender hand with long fingers and tapped his ear. "What do you think these are? I did not shape them." For the first time, William noticed that the other's ears had delicate points.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Perhaps some birth defect?"

"I don't know whether I ought to be insulted or amused at your persistence to prove that I am only a man, when I am not. It is considered normal for my kind to have pointed ears, Captain Turner, although there is no way to prove it to you as I believe I am the only elf in this world at present," said Legolas. William had to admit that there seemed to be something very otherworldly about him. He was so refined; it was surprising that he would associate himself with the likes of Jack. Will and the Frenchman, he could understand, and even the short-tempered Greek, but Jack? There was something else about Legolas; he was young, and yet ancient. The only thing certain about him was the air of sorrow that surrounded him like shroud. The sailor was growing increasingly curious.

"If you really are one of the Fair Folk, then you'd be immortal," he said.

"I am —I...was."

William waited. If this Legolas was a fool —which he didn't seem to be— or the genuine item, he might continue. If he were a fraud, he ought to shut up at this point.

"It's a long tale, strange too, even by my standards," said Legolas. He sighed, and William noticed how gaunt and drawn his face was. The dim moonlight cast dark shadows on his sunken cheeks. He almost looked like a wraith. Clearly, he was troubled; William didn't need to know him well to see that. Such things could not be acted, at least not to this degree.

"I think I have heard enough strange tales in my life," he said. "One more will not make too much of a difference."

"I suppose you deserve to know the whole truth about why we came to find the Fountain," said Legolas with a sigh. "I do not like reliving that day, seeing that moment, when the arrow was flying towards me, again and again in my mind. I keep on wondering whether I could have done something to change it."

"Regret is useless, especially regret over something that was not your fault," said William, thinking of all the things in his life that he wished had not happened. "Unless it _was_ your fault?"

"Partly," said Legolas, "although I must stress the fact that we did _not_ start the trouble. Rather, we went to end it, except our plans never run smoothly." He repeated the tale concerning the Frenchman, the King Philippe the Second of France, King Richard the Lionheart, and an ambitious cardinal, except he went into a lot more detail, talking about a jewel that everyone desired and its potential to become a great weapon in the hands of the wrong man. He spoke of the Roman Inquisition; William felt as if he was there, with Legolas, with Will, with Jack, watching in desperation as their friend was being led to his execution. Whatever Legolas was, he definitely had some otherworldly skills when it came to telling tales. "When Jack ran to me that day, blabbering something about the Fountain of Youth and a cure for my apparent mortality," said Legolas as he reached the end of the tale, "I knew I would risk everything to find it. Do you know how it is, William, to live as if you were blind and deaf and half dead? It is an existence that is worse than death itself. I do not fear death. I am no coward, but I fear not living."

William could only nod dumbly. What could he say to that? He believed Legolas. Against all good sense, he believed in this golden stranger. He didn't know what had gotten into him lately, but he seemed to be tempted to take risks all the time. This was one of those times.

"I must show you something," he said.

* * *

It was a sextant. It looked like a very ordinary sextant, apart from some faded, almost unnoticeable markings. Legolas knew how to use one of these himself, but he did not see what was so special about it that William had to keep it a secret. To be quite honest, it was not even a very good sextant.

"The markings match those on Jack's compass," said William. "Somehow, despite the fact that our worlds are entirely different and separate, they are linked."

"I'm not surprised," said Legolas. "In fact, I would not be surprised if all our worlds are linked. What does the sextant do?"

"I was hoping you or someone else in your group could tell me." The two looked at one another and reached an accord; one that did not require words.

"I wonder if Jack Sparrow will retain his good mood if we toss cold water on him," said William. "It does not sound very hospitable, and I pride myself on my hospitality."

"Desperate times call for drastic means," said Legolas. "Besides, bathing never did anyone any harm, despite what my companions seem to think."

* * *

Paris was tired, Paris was wet and Paris was annoyed, to say the least. "Look," said Legolas, seeming a lot more cheerful than he had in months. "I don't have my elven eyesight anymore. It was easy enough to mistake you for Jack. You are sharing one guest room, after all."

"I look _nothing_ like Jack!" said Paris through gritted teeth. "I don't snore like him either." Across the cramped room, Achilles was smirking.

"That's right," said Jack. "You look nuthin' like me, an' I feel a bit sorry fer you, actually."

"Because he doesn't snore like you?" asked Will, raising an eyebrow. All the inhabitants of the room had woken upon hearing Paris' surprised yelp. Swords had been unsheathed, axes brandished, and Achilles had almost strangled Barbossa, much to the old pirate's annoyance.

"Well, I am a handsome fella, e'en if I say so meself," said Jack with a grin. "'Sides, it ain't me face on one o' those 'wanted' notices, savvy? Now, what's this all about?"

"What do the markings on your compass mean?" asked William. Jack pondered the question for a moment, and then shrugged.

"I just assumed that they were there to make it pretty," he said. "Ne'er asked, an' Tia Dalma ne'er told me."

"Aren't you supposed to be curious, Jack?" asked Elizabeth.

"Aye, but that's Tia Dalma, darling," said Jack. "You don't ask her too many questions, savvy? It's not good for your health." He pulled out his compass. "Hmm...now that you mention it, these look like some kind o' funny language that I ain't seen before." He held the compass out for Barbossa to examine; a rather alarming development. For once, those two were not at one another's throats.

"It be the first time I've seen anythin' like this," said Barbossa after a while. "Strange, is it not, that one never notices anythin' that's right before one's nose?"

"I dunno," said Jack. "I notice when you're in me face."

* * *

James Sparrow stared at the scrap of parchment on his desk. It was dirty, tattered and faded, covered with symbols and designs that no one could understand and only one line of readable text, written in a circle in spidery cursive text. _The stargazer's heart's desire lies upon the surface, illuminating the way. _He knew it off by heart, this line, for he had read it over and over again. On its own, it made little sense, but Sparrow knew better. After all, he had found out about the existence of Turner's sextant, hadn't he? Sextants were used to measure the angle between celestial objects, and how was one to do so at night without gazing at the stars?

There was a knock on the door of his study. Quickly, Sparrow stowed away the parchment. No one could know about it; no one at all. It was his secret, this scrap of parchment that he had discovered whilst suffering humiliation day after day at the hands of his uncle and cousins. He had worked hard for this, and he was going to reap the rewards. "Come in," he barked.

"Milord," said his most trusted lieutenant, a former mercenary by the name of Mercer. The name suited him perfectly, because he was a mercenary through and through, with no morals to speak of. The only loyalty he showed to anyone was to himself —and he had made no effort to hide it. Sparrow understood men like that, and frankly, the man was useful for dirty work and everything else that could not be solved by plots alone. He needed such a man if he was to catch Turner. "We found a man wandering on the beach."

"There are always drunkards wandering on the beaches at this hour," said Sparrow. "Why trouble me with such trivialities?"

"He claims to run the East India Trading Company, milord," said Mercer.

"A drunkard with delusions; how...ordinary. Really, Mercer, I have better things to worry about."

"He isn't drunk, from what I can tell," said the mercenary. "And I believe you'll find him to be very interesting." It wasn't like Mercer to be so cryptic, although the smugness was normal. Mercer was good at what he did; he knew it and he was proud of it.

"Very well, then," said Sparrow. "Send him in and stop wasting my time with riddles."

A tiny man, wearing a dishevelled white wig, heavy shackled and a tattered silk coat that had been ruined by seawater was shoved into the study. Sparrow would know him anywhere. Mercer was right; he was _very _interested indeed.

* * *

Something was very wrong. Jonathan knew that as soon as he found himself alone on a beach, with no sign of a shipwreck and no sign of his ship either. The last thing he remembered was a huge wave covering them and dragging them beneath the surface of the water. He'd called for his men, for Fitzpatrick, but no one had answered. Then he realized that something devilish was afoot when Mercer arrested him. One, Mercer was dead and two, even if he weren't, he was supposed to be on the Becketts' side. No one could pay him a higher price than a Beckett could and he, being worldly man, would know that, and therefore he would never offend a Beckett.

When he heard Jack's voice coming from inside that study and speaking in that accent, he thought that he was finally in Hell, and ironically, Jack Sparrow was the one to pass judgement on him. He stumbled as they shoved him in, and almost fell flat on his face.

"Leave us," said Jack, or the man who sounded like Jack, but who used proper grammar. Beckett risked glancing up. Standing before him, a glass of scotch in hand, his silken coat in perfect condition and the buckles of his shoes so polished that they almost glowed in their own right, was a perfectly well groomed Jack, except there was no way in the world that this could be Jack. "Well, well, look what we have here. Welcome to my humble abode, Cousin Jonathan. Frankly, I am surprised you are still alive. After all, I garrotted you myself."

"James Sparrow started hunting me the day my father put this sextant in my hand," said William. "He obviously knows of its function." They were sitting in the captain's study once more, only this time it was more like a war council than an interrogation session. Of William's people, only Norrington and Anna-Maria were there this time. They all sat on whatever furniture was in the room; the desk, upended crates, piles of books that could not find room on the shelves.

"He ain't gonna tell us, is he?" asked Jack, who had one of the only chairs in the room. William and Legolas had the others. "And I can't tell you either. I might look like this Sparrow an' I can pretend to be 'im, but I ain't got what's inside his head."

"Perhaps not," said William, "but after what you did at Port St. James to save us, I have been wondering about something. If we could somehow lure Sparrow away from the port without others realizing that he is gone, then _you_ can go in and find out what he knows."

"Are you mad?!"

"Just a little," said William. "Having been hunted for over ten years does that to a man."

"It sounds like your usual sort of idea, Jack," said Elizabeth. "It could work."

"He jus' be irritated that he didn't think of it himself," drawled Barbossa.

Will had to admit, it sounded like a good plan, simply risky. They had done a lot of risky things in the past. Hell, they'd even pretended to be gods, once, so why couldn't Jack pretend to be...himself?

"I don't like it," said Jack. "I'll be in there alone, an' if they find out, I'm dead."

"You won't be alone," said William. "We will infiltrate the port as merchant sailors. You need not be there for long. Just gather as much information as you can possibly find in Sparrow's mansion and then leave. Did I mention that his mansion is filled with every luxury possible? Indian princes, Turkish lords give him lavish gifts all the time, and he never turns them down. Everyone either wants to curry his favour or stay his wrath, although I don't doubt that what most of us really want is to stick a knife between his shoulder blades."

* * *

Jonathan had never liked his cousin James much. He was always so confident, so charming. When he was in a room, all attention immediately turned to him because of what he had inherited from his rogue of a father. And he had been afraid of Jack, in a way, for he was always so unpredictable, and Jonathan's father had shown him obvious favour. However, he wished that his Cousin Jack were the one standing in front of him right now, instead of this imposter, who was what Jack would have become if he had somehow managed to take control of the Company, which was impossible because the last time he looked, _he _had been the head of the Company and Jack had been a pirate.

"I don't know what you mean," said Jonathan, trying to bite back the tremor in his voice. It didn't work. 'Jack' smirked.

"Come now," said 'Jack'. "You must remember. You couldn't even scream."

"Jack, I'm here now, aren't I? Clearly, you're not as good as garrotting others as you think," said Jonathan. He didn't anticipate it. 'Jack' moved with the speed of a striking viper. He let out a strangled whimper as the other man grabbed him by the neck and forcefully tilted his head backward.

"You're not Jonathan," said the man who looked like Jack but was clearly not Jack. "Tell me who you are, and your purpose in Port St. James, or you'll share my cousin's unfortunate fate." Well, under such circumstances, what was a man to do? Jonathan was not like Cutler, who could stay calm in the face of almost anything. He wasn't Jack, who could wriggle his way out of anything. He was Jonathan, the least accomplished the Beckett boys; the one who always lived in the shadow of his brother and cousin.

"I came to find the Fountain of Youth!" he said. Well, he would like to have thought that he had spoken those words like a man, although to be totally honest, he had more or less squeaked them.

"You know of the Fountain?" demanded the man. The stranglehold on Jonathan's throat was loosened, but only just slightly. "What do you know?"

* * *

**A/N: **Once again, I apologize for the short length of the chapter. I've had a really busy week.


	10. Deception

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize; I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them once I'm done.

**Chapter 10: Deception**

The plan sounded simple, but it was really quite difficult to execute. "Well, it's just the overall idea," said William when Jack pointed out everything that was wrong with his plan. He knew he sounded a bit defensive, like a petulant child being told that perhaps his suggestion was not the best one, and he almost winced at his own tone. It wasn't that he was not used to rebuttal; indeed, Norrington did it all the time. However, being rebutted by someone who looked like Sparrow took some getting used to. He even had a hard time liking Jack simply because of the way he looked. It wasn't fair of him, he knew, but it wasn't something that could be helped. He was trying.

"Hey, you didn't elaborate, mate," said Jack. "How was I supposed to know?"

"Peace," said the medieval French baron. William wasn't sure what to make of him, but he seemed to be a decent sort. Legolas and Will, he liked, and he was intimidated by Elizabeth. Paris, the alleged Prince of Troy, was still a bit of an enigma, and Achilles was terrifying. They were a strange bunch, these men...and this elf and dwarf. He wasn't even sure how they could tolerate one another, let alone be friends, but here they were, almost like brothers despite having been born in completely different worlds. Of course, all of this rested on the assumption that their tale was true, but William believed them, against all good judgement. "All plans have flaws."

"Not mine," said Jack.

"You don't have plans," retorted Balian. "You simply make things up as you go along!"

"Only _most_ of the time! Not always!"

"Ye be a hypocrite, Jack Sparra," said a smirking Barbossa. Here was another mystery. Barbossa and Jack obviously did not like each other, and yet they had not gone at each other's throats yet. "Ye be the one who makes things up as ye go along, and yet ye be criticizin' someone's plan!"

* * *

"How curious." James Sparrow sat on the wide leather chair behind the heavy ornate desk of mahogany. He was resting his elbows on the desk top with his fingertips touching, the very image of a man who had complete confidence in his own capabilities. He tapped his fingertips together and Jonathan flinched; what was he thinking? More importantly, would he like what Sparrow was thinking about? He got the distinct feeling that he was standing in front of his father, too afraid to even look up. "You say that this man, Jack Sparrow, looks exactly like me and is _your_ cousin?"

"Yes sir," said Jonathan, fighting to keep the tremor out of his voice. Cutler would not have batted an eyelid in this situation and Jack would have danced out of here with a bottle of rum in one hand and a trinket —courtesy of _this_ Sparrow— in the other. He could hear his father's voice inside his head again, comparing him to Cutler, and even to their bastard cousin! God, it had been humiliating. He had always come up short in his father's eyes. Jack and Cutler could always do everything better than he could. The old man had probably wished that Jack had been his son instead of Jonathan. He'd had more than enough of Jack Sparrow!

"You've had enough of Jack Sparrow, you say?" asked James. That was when Jonathan realized that he had uttered that last thought out loud. Cold sweat beaded on his brow. Had James Sparrow taken offense to that?

"Forgive me, milord," he said. Yes, his voice was shaking and he did not particularly care. "I meant the other Jack Sparrow."

"Oh, I have not been 'Jack' Sparrow for quite some time, Jonathan," said Sparrow. "And how fortuitous it is that you have had enough of this Jack Sparrow, for I have also had enough of him."

"You know of my cousin, sir?" asked Jonathan. Had Jack _already_ made a name for himself here, despite everything being upside down and inside out?

"It's only a guess," said Sparrow, "but I believe that he impersonated me just the other night and helped a wanted fugitive to escape. Perhaps you have heard of one William Turner?" He looked at Jonathan expectantly with piercing dark eyes that seemed to see everything, even down to the very last secret inside Jonathan's head. This was a test. He was sure of it.

"Is he a friend or an enemy?" asked Jonathan cautiously, risking a glance up at the other man's face, searching for any clue that might betray his opinion of Turner and thus help Jonathan prepare for his answers. James Sparrow's expression remained one of passive interest and smug calm. Nothing could be discerned.

"You tell me, Jonathan," said James. Jonathan hesitated, but only for a moment. Cutler and Jack had been successes because they had been willing to take risks. Perhaps it was time for him to learn from them.

"I loathe him," he spat. "If there is one man in the world I loathe as much as I do my cousin, then it's Turner."

"We are of an accord, then, Jonathan Beckett," said Sparrow. He rose from his seat the way a king would rise from his throne. It occurred to Jonathan that Sparrow was king in all but name. He certainly behaved as if he were a sovereign in his own right. It would definitely be an advantage to have such a man on his side, although, come to think of it, a man like Sparrow was on no one's side save for his own.

* * *

Jack tugged at the horrific lacy collar. It was scratching his neck and strangling him at the same time. He had almost been hanged once; this did not feel so different.

"Stop fidgeting!" said Elizabeth. "You're pulling the collar out of shape!"

"It ain't me fault that it's made fer a smaller man!" said Jack. He grimaced as he regarded his reflection in the grimy mirror that had a crack down the middle. He looked awful, like some prim and pompous English gentleman with no money to his name and trying to pass off for someone well off. "You've already trimmed me beard _and_ me hair! What else do you want to do to me?!"

"Teeth," said Elizabeth. "They need to be cleaned."

"_Wot_ on earth are you on about, Lizzie? Had too much of the Whelp's absinthe? Me teeth are just _fine_, savvy?"

"Well, you ain't gettin' no kisses from me if you don't clean 'em, Jack Sparra," said Anamaria, coming in with a tray. On it were a few birch twigs that had been stripped of their bark, and chalk, as well as a cup of water.

"Really, Ana?" asked Jack in a pained expression. "If you really want me to clean me teeth, jus' give me some of the Whelp's absinthe! I can rinse me mouth wif that, what say ye, eh?"

"Will does not have any absinthe," said Will, coming in. He took one look at his friend and then burst out into laughter, wheezing for breath and clutching his stomach as he doubled over. "My God, Jack! If only the ladies of Minas Tirith could see you now!"

"They already liked me well enough _without_ the moth-eaten ruffles!"

"Yes, but now they will flock to you like moths to a flame," said Elizabeth as she batted Jack's hands away from his collar. "I pity the poor souls."

Jack glared at the reflection of himself and the laughing Will in the mirror. "Don't laugh so quickly yet, Whelp. Wait till she dresses you up."

"I don't need to be dressed up," said Will smugly. "William wears neither lace nor ruffles. In fact, the only thing I have had to do was lose the bandanna."

"But he does wear tight hose," said another voice from the doorway. They turned to look at the other 'William'. Balian looked so much younger than they had ever remembered seeing him. He had finally submitted to the razor and allowed them to shave away much of his beard, which he had worn with the same pride as the Muslims wore their beards. His unruly hair, which usually went uncombed and untamed, had been tied back. The scar stood out starkly, giving him a decidedly roguish air. Jack decided that out of all of them, he had the worst costume, and thought about getting rid of the collar as soon as he was out of Elizabeth's reach.

"The hose is very... distracting," said Elizabeth, looking him up and down, clearly impressed with the transformation.

"I'll say," said Anamaria. "Ah, cheer up, Balian. You are goin' ta make the ladies of Port Saint James swoon."

* * *

William could not help but feel a pang of longing as Will kissed Elizabeth farewell, and in front of everyone too! Clearly, they were not shy about their relationship. He envied Will; he really did. He envied Will; he really did. In another life —Will's life— William Turner had married Miss Elizabeth Swann and was raising a family with her. He hadn't known them for long, but already, he had heard about Willie Turner and the beautiful little Jane, who, much to her mother's regret, was showing the tendencies of becoming a proper lady instead of a pirate princess or something rather. Whereas, in his reality, Miss Swann had chosen to remain a lady and married Lord James Sparrow, as her father had wished. How could there be two such different realities? What had changed? As far as he knew, he and Will had more or less the same childhood as a blacksmith's apprentice. Will's father had also been a pirate; the only difference was that he was still alive.

What would he give to trade lives with Will? He was also often hunted, yes, but he had many friends to help him, and no one expected him to right all the wrongs in the world. He might have had his heart cut out, but he'd gotten that back, hadn't he? He pushed aside these pointless thoughts. It wasn't fair of him to begrudge the other man his happiness. A real man took what fate threw at him and made the best of it, and William intended to somehow find happiness in the end.

"Stay safe," Elizabeth murmured to Will as she cupped his face with the strong hand of a woman who was accustomed to doing her own work.

"I will," said Will.

"I wish you'd let me come with you," she said.

"I would, but Sparrow would notice something odd if he saw you with me. His wife, after all, does have your face," said Will. "Don't worry. I have Barbossa with me."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because I really don't feel any better."

Barbossa, who was standing to one side impatiently, rolled his eyes and began to polish a green apple on his jacket, which appeared to be dirtier than the apple itself. "I thank ye fer yer vote o' confidence, Mrs. Turner," said Barbossa.

"I'm sorry, Captain Barbossa, but you haven't been particularly interested in Will's safety in the past."

"Don't worry, Elizabeth," said Will. "I'm sure Captain Barbossa has learned from his mistakes and become a better man. You wouldn't have let him be Willie's godfather otherwise, would you?"

"I didn't exactly have a lot of options back then," said Elizabeth. "Fine. Go, but if you die, by God, I'll kill you myself!"

* * *

Will peered at Port Saint James through his spyglass. It was quiet and calm; perhaps just a little too quiet for his liking. After all, the port had just been raided a few nights ago and it hadn't exactly been a tidy little raid. In fact, from what he could remember of it, it had been rather ugly. However, he could only see a few naval ships, and they weren't doing anything. He didn't know what it meant, but it simply wasn't normal. What about heightened security? Was Sparrow so certain that he could deal with any future attacks that he had not bothered?

No matter. Will wasn't looking to get inside the fort; that was up to Jack and Balian to put on a convincing show later. Right now, he needed to get someone out of there. "Admiral Turner," said Norrington. It was odd, having Norrington address him by his title. Not so long ago, he had been the one calling Norrington 'Commodore'. Then again, that was a different Norrington. "Do we attack?"

"No," said Will. "We wait until nightfall, just like a real raid. If we do not behave as if we mean to raze the port, Sparrow will grow suspicious, and I don't want that."

"Very good, Admiral," said Norrington.

"You know, you don't have to call me Admiral," said Will. "I'm not an Admiral here, technically."

"It's to differentiate between you and Captain Turner," said Norrington. "And since you are leading us, it would not be right to call you by your Christian name, particularly not a shortened form. I'm a naval man, Admiral. Old habits are hard to be rid of, especially since there is no reason to get rid of them. Respect is important."

"Perhaps you're not as different from the other James Norrington, then," said Will, partly to himself and partly to his, or rather, William's, First Mate. "He was also a stickler for protocol, which is perhaps he is such a valued crew member on the _Dutchman_ now."

"I have another self out there? On the _Flying Dutchman_?" Norrington sounded as if he didn't know how to react. Who could blame him? It was beyond weird, this whole business of having two of everyone.

* * *

Night rolled in silently, with no disturbance. The only noise came from the waves lapping against the sides of the ship, and the occasional cough or two from the men. Still, William waited until the alien stars were a little brighter in the sky. The full moon was beginning to wane, but it still gave more than enough light to see by. No one had lit the lanterns. To do so would be to give away their position, and pirates who were intent on raiding a port would never do that. Will sailed the ship closer to the shore. The _Buccaneer _sliced through the water, perhaps not as cleanly or quickly as the _Black Pearl_ would have, but it was certainly not a poor vessel. Better than Jack's dinghy, at any rate.

Mist had gathered over the surface of the sea near the shore, forming a broiling shifting blanket of paleness. Will was glad, for it shielded them from the sentries on the walls of the fort until they were within firing range. He motioned to the men, who were ready. The first boom shattered the silence of the night. Smoke curled up from the cannon's mouth, like a man breathing out after having taken a draught from his pipe. The cannon cut through the night air, the shrill whistle fading away until Will heard a dull thud in the distance. He was too far away to hear the shouts of the men, but no doubt they will be shouting.

"Closer!" he cried.

"Admiral, that's dangerous!" shouted Norrington.

"Pretend this is a real raid, gentlemen! And call me Captain from now on; you don't want anyone to overhear you."

"Aye aye!" called Fisher. "It always felt a bit funny callin' you Admiral anyway, 'specially since y'only got one ship, and it ain't yours."

* * *

James had expected Turner to be back, but so soon? That was...uncharacteristic of him. Too risky. Turner was not a man who took a great many risks, preferring security over a quick victory. That was the reason why they were locked in this uneasy stalemate, and had been for so long. Was Turner as sick of that stalemate as he was? Perhaps, after all these years, he finally wanted a resolution. Well, unfortunately for him, it wasn't going to be a resolution that would be very beneficial to him. James Sparrow never lost at anything anymore. He had lost once, and that was more than enough.

And whilst it had surprised him that Turner would attack so soon after the previous failed raid, James was never disadvantaged by the element of surprise. Everything was already prepared; he had only had to say the word. It would have been easy to set Mercer on Turner, but what would be the amusement in that? He wanted to be there when his greatest adversary fell.

He hoped that they were coming out to meet him. Dammit, he needed Sparrow to come out, or everything would go to pot! He told the crew to fire another volley, and another. As the distant thuds reached his ears, he felt a pang of guilt; surely the townspeople did not deserve this, but what could he do? They needed to know what secret James Sparrow was harbouring, in case it threatened the lives of more people. 'That doesn't make it right,' said an irritating voice inside his head. Here they were, attacking someone simply because there was the threat of a threat. Come to think of it, it was a little ridiculous, but there was no turning back now. Besides, he reasoned, James Sparrow wasn't just a threat of a threat. He _was_ very threatening. If someone didn't get rid of him, he would raze all of Harbour Island to the ground. He had made his intentions very clear.

"Ad—Captain! They're coming out! Should we turn around?" The men's excitement was palpable. Sparrow was falling for their plan, as unlikely as it sounded! It would be a first; usually, they were the ones falling for Sparrow's plans.

"Wait a while longer!" shouted Will. "Or else he'll be suspicious!"

"We can't win if we engage him in a battle, Captain!" shouted Norrington. "He has too many ships!"

"We only have to put up some sort of fight, and then we can turn!" It was a huge risk, but it was the only way to convince Sparrow that he really was here to raid the town, and not just divert his attention from things of more importance. There was a high whistle, and then fire exploded as a cannon ball struck the _Buccaneer_, dangerously close to where Will was. He was thrown back by the power of the blast. Someone helped him up.

"Captain Turner, we have to turn back now, or it will be too late!" cried Norrington. With his ears still ringing from the blast, Will nodded.

"Go!" he said. They couldn't return to Harbour Island just yet. Sparrow didn't know where it was, and to lead him there would be to doom everyone living there. The plan had been for them to lose Sparrow's ships along a series of shoals about thirty miles west of Harbour Island, extending from this place's version of Tortuga —which was also called Tortuga, but was actually not a haven of depravity— and then sail back after having taken a huge detour. The _Buccaneer_ was a faster ship than all of Sparrow's. At least, Will hoped that was true.

* * *

They looked ridiculous. They all looked ridiculous. No one would mistake a pirate vessel —albeit William's second finest— for a naval ship, surely. Jack could tell the differences with his eyes closed. However, no one seemed to notice that this Lord Sparrow could not ride very well, or that the redcoats were actually a bunch of pirates dressed up in stolen uniforms that sometimes did not fit quite right. No; they were all too busy shouting abuse at 'William Turner'.

Jack decided that there were worse fates than having to wear scratchy lacy collars, such as having rotten vegetables thrown at oneself. Poor Balian; somehow, he always ended up having the worst tasks, not that Jack would ever think of alleviating his suffering by swapping places with him. It wouldn't work anyway. Besides, he had volunteered for the task. He could have let Paris take it, not that Paris would have been stupid enough to do it. It was a universal truth that all honourable men had something wrong with their heads.

There was also a lot of cheering for Jack, although it was really meant for James Sparrow. Jack didn't mind that either. There was something to be said about the satisfaction of knowing that he had fooled not one person, or even a dozen, but an entire town. Of course, he'd almost fooled the pope once, when he'd been younger and before he'd met Will and lost some of his skill as an overall deceiver. Ah, those days had been good days. Perhaps he could repeat them again in this world, and leave them with the legend of Captain Jack Sparrow...

They came to a stop in front of a giant mansion unlike any that Jack had ever seen before. Sure, it wasn't as grand as Minas Tirith, or the Papal Palace in Rome, or the cathedral that he and Barbossa had blown up, but this wasn't supposed to be a palace. This was a house. It wasn't even Sparrow's main residence, as he obviously had holdings in England, being someone of such great importance. Cutler Beckett had had extensive properties in England as well, and Jack couldn't see why James Sparrow would be any different. Hell, if _he_ had been Lord Jack Sparrow —and not just a penniless pirate lord— he would have had at least ten residences like this scattered all over the world, as well as a magnificent vessel that could serve as a floating mansion. However, for now, he would have to satisfy himself with pretending that he owned this place.

What he hadn't prepared for, however, was the appearance of Lady Sparrow. Jack gulped involuntarily. It wasn't that he didn't find Elizabeth attractive —she was very attractive— but she intimidated him in her own way. She was the personification of tyranny, really. Of course, there was every chance in the world that this version of Elizabeth Swann, or Elizabeth Sparrow or whatever the hell her name was, would be quite different from the Lizzie he knew, but he couldn't help feeling just a little bit daunted. Especially when she tried to kiss him, albeit on the cheek. The last time Elizabeth had kissed him, he hadn't liked the aftermath. The kiss had been good though.

"I came down as soon as I heard, James," said Elizabeth, or rather, Eliza. William had said that everyone had called her Miss Eliza. It was handy; otherwise he would have gotten very confused with all the Elizabeths running around. "Is it true? Have you really caught William Turner?"

"Do you think I would be back if I hadn't, darling?" said Jack, trying to brush her aside. James Sparrow didn't sound like he would be a charming or loving husband.

"Of course not," murmured Eliza, immediately contrite. Poor thing; she was obviously terrified of her husband. For a moment, Jack played with the idea of kidnapping her and taking her back to William, who obviously had a thing for her. He wasn't sure if William still had a thing for her, but any life would be better than this one. He knew all about gilded cages; how could he not, when he associated with the likes of Lady Éowyn, and of course, his dear friend Lizzie and Anamaria and just about every single other woman that he could call a friend? Balian, to his credit, had put up a decent show of being a defiant prisoner. The women had a done a good job with the chicken blood and the smudged soot. He actually looked rather battered. Right at that moment, the Frenchman stepped on one of his 'captor's' toes, causing the man to yelp in pain and then curse. The man struck the 'prisoner'. That was Jack's cue. He pushed aside the thoughts of kidnapping Eliza —although those were to be revisited, of course— and turned back to the matter at hand.

"No one is to disturb me," he said. "I shall be interrogating the prisoner in my study."

"In your study, James? Are you sure?"

"Is there anything wrong with my study?" asked Jack.

"No, of course not, my dear. I am surprised that you did not take him to the gaol, that is all."

"Why would you even expect to be able to know what I would do?" asked Jack, summoning as much disdain into his voice as he could.

"I wouldn't," said Eliza, looking more and more frightened by the moment. Did James hurt her? If he hurt her, Jack would make sure that the bastard would have hell to pay. It wasn't that he was particularly attached to Eliza or her other self —all right, he would be upset if Elizabeth got hurt, not that he would ever admit it— but despite all his failings as a proper gentleman, he would never _ever_ hurt a lady. He might break the hearts of wenches who fell in and out of love easily, but never that of a lady, and he would certainly never strike a woman, not that he hadn't been tempted when Elizabeth had burned his rum. "But James, will you not take refreshments first? The cook has prepared duck in wine sauce."

"No," said Jack, although it sounded absolutely delicious. However, he had a study to rifle through and then a bunch of redcoats to escape. "This is of utmost importance. You go ahead."

"Very well, then," said Eliza. "I have been feeling rather nervous of late so I think I shall retire early so as to not disturb you."

Now, they only had one problem. Where was James Sparrow's study? Jack stepped through the front door and was greeted by a grand foyer with two staircases on either side. Both staircases looked identical, with steps carved out of speckled marble of the palest pink and gold-plated rails. How opulent. It was more than a little distasteful after the effortless elegance of Minas Tirith that Jack had grown accustomed to.

'Think like a bastard. Think like a bastard,' he thought to himself. If he were James Sparrow, which side would his study be on? He was right-handed, and it was safe to assume that James would be as well. Well, it wasn't safe, but one had to take risks if one was to get anywhere. He headed for the right staircase. Guards and soldiers, both real and false, followed him, with the latter escorting the prisoner. He came to the second level of the house, where there were a great many closed doors, all painted white. It was lucky for him that one of the servants stepped in front of one of the doors and then bowed. "Sir," he said. "Everything has been prepared, just the way you like it."

"Thank you," said Jack, and the man gave him a look of shock. Right, so James Sparrow never thanked his servants. Jack could live with that. The servant opened the door and bowed again. Jack strode in without giving him a second glance. They wanted a pompous lord? Well, they had one. 'William Turner' was shoved in behind him, and then the door was closed.

"Are we safe?" whispered one of the false guards.

"For the moment, although we won't be for long, gentlemen, so start searching," said Jack. "Chop chop! We haven't got all day. Balian, I gotta tell Anamaria that she did a wonderful job with the bruises. That one there on your cheek looks really real."

"It _is_ real," said Balian with a grimace. "Overly enthusiastic dame with a turnip gave it to me. You know, Jack, if this doesn't work, I am going to be a bit annoyed, particularly after that humiliating episode."

"Ah, why concern yourself with it?" said Jack with a dismissive wave of his hand as he began sifting through the items on James Sparrow's desk. An amber paperweight with a dragonfly inside it, a gold inkwell, and a pile of papers with a familiar scrawl on it. Jack pocketed the paperweight, left the inkwell because it looked ghastly and, more importantly, was full of ink, and then started examining the papers. Most of the writing on it pertained to trade and monopolies. Sparrow alone controlled the spice trade from the East to England, and he also controlled a large share of the sugar trade. He was rich, but he had no taste. "I'm sure that wasn't your most humiliating experience, knowing you. Hey, what about that time when you were paraded in front of crowds in Rome? I wasn't there to see it, but—all right, you don't want to talk about it."

"I can't read any of this," said Balian, flipping through a book. "It's all in English, with malformed letters."

"Mate, the language evolved," said Jack. "Just learn to live with it. Hmm...now this is interesting. He mentions a fountain, a capitalized Fountain, and a map and a key and somethin' about a stargazer."

"James Sparrow knows about Legolas?" asked Balian. "How?"

"I doubt it's our elf," said Jack. "It says that the stargazer is to be used in conjunction with the map and something else that is only coded by the term 'heart's desire'...hey, sextants are used for measurin' the angles between celestial bodies, and me compass shows people what they want, and these are all mentioned in conjunction with a capitalized Fountain—damn, we need the map!"

"Do you think he would have left it here?" said Balian, looking around the room, which was being ransacked at the moment. Everything had been turned upside down. Pages had been torn out of books, the linings of chairs had been ripped out, but so far, there was no sign of a special map. There was a large map of the world hanging on the wall of course, and it was a fascinating map because it was unlike the maps that Balian was used to, but he doubted that it would lead to the Fountain of Youth. Such important documents were unlikely to be shown off.

"If I were him, I'd carry the map with me at all times," said Jack. "Which means we need to grab this Sparrow if we're gonna actually find the Fountain—at least, that's my guess. Hey, don't look so gloomy! At least we now know what we're after specifically."

* * *

**A/N: **There was a lot of dialogue in this chapter, and I'm not sure if I'm entirely happy with it, but there seems to be nothing I can do. I hope you enjoyed it anyway.

So...I'm really busy in the next couple of weeks with course work, so the updates might be either be a day late or a bit short. Just giving you guys a heads-up! I haven't abandoned the tale!


	11. Of Sparrows and Sparrows

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize.

**Smithy: **This is exactly like an alternative universe. I was interested in how things would change if one person made a few different choices.

**Calil Gadien: **I misread things on the internet all the time. I wish I could write by osmosis too. Alas, my computer can't read my mind.

**Chapter 11: Of Sparrows and Sparrows. **

A boom, a whistle, and a dull thud as the cannon ball hit. That was the sound of the _Buccaneer_ and her crew's death sentences being read out. It was in a language that everyone, regardless of race or class, understood. The ship floundered on, her death struggles becoming more and more laboured as water poured into her, filling her body. The men were running like ants upon the deck, trying to do something to prevent the inevitable. James Sparrow lowered his spyglass. Now all he had to do was go in and round them up. It occurred to him that Turner would prefer to destroy the sextant rather than surrender it to him, but Sparrow knew men like Turner. He only had to make a deal with him. Given the choice between not letting Sparrow win or letting his men live, Turner would choose the latter.

Sparrow's ships closed in on the wrecked ship like vultures on a dying beast. The smell of gunpowder and of smoke was a pleasant addition to the briny sea breeze. Pieces of splintered wood floated on the surface. James' ship, the _Mercenary_, pushed these aside as she cut through the waters with her two flags waving proudly in the wind. He had won, at last, although he had expected no other outcome. He was James Sparrow. James Sparrow never lost at anything.

"Go down and round up the rabble," he told Mercer. "If any one of them escapes, I will personally hold you responsible."

The man bowed and then turned on his heel without a word, leaving him alone on the quarterdeck with Jonathan Beckett. "What do you think, Beckett?" he asked. The other man was clearly intimidated, and he enjoyed his discomfort. Beckett shifted his weight from one foot to another and cleared his throat.

"I...look forward to watching Turner hang," he said.

"Good," said James. "So do I. I find so much satisfaction in seeing a happy ending."

* * *

They could either drown or be caught. Will didn't like the sound of either choice, but given the current circumstances, drowning sounded like the slightly more merciful one. How could it all have gone so wrong? They had severely underestimated Sparrow. He silently cursed himself. In retrospect, it had been idiotic to underestimate Sparrow. He was Jack's other self, and Jack always managed to get out on top of things.

He could see the ship sinking as she gave up her struggle. What to choose? He could either die now and never see his wife and children again, or he could hold onto the thin and foolish hope that his friends would somehow save him from whatever Sparrow had in store for him. But did they even know that he was here in trouble? Perhaps this was the way that Balian had felt that time when he had been taken by the Inquisition. It was not an enviable position.

"Admiral," said Norrington from behind him. Will turned around to see the entire crew. They were calm now; no longer attempting to delay the inevitable. They knew that death was calling.

"I've heard that the _Flying Dutchman'_s recruitin'," one of the men jested.

"And I've heard that the new captain has raised his standards," said Will.

"Aw, come on!" said the man who had first spoken. "Well, there goes me plan fer the afterlife. Although, I s'ppose Hell would 'ave 'nuff debauchery to keep me busy."

"I guess I can tell you now that I'm a little bit scared," admitted one of the younger crew members. "I don't even know what it's like, over there on the other side."

"I've done it before," said Will. "I've been there. It's not so bad once you get used to it."

"Sir, I was wonderin'...can you put in a good word for me to Saint Peter or one o' the other saints or angels?" asked one anxious man. "I ain't exactly followed the good book, but I don't think I deserve to go t' hell; I sayed me prayers an' I went to church ev'ry Sundee if I could."

"But you usually couldn't because you were inebriated after a night of debauchery, Mister Cooper," said Norrington drily.

"But I did me best, Mister Norrington, sir! Ye get credit fer tryin', right?"

Just because they had accepted that they were all going to die did not mean that they were going to go easily, however. As soon as the boats were lowered over the side, and the soldiers were within range of their pistols, shots rang out. If they were going down, then they weren't going to go down alone. If Sparrow had thought that it was all over, then perhaps he had made the same mistake as they had; he'd underestimated his enemy.

The redcoats returned fire. Grapple hooks were thrown at the rails of the sinking ship and they latched onto the wood, biting deeply. The men tried to cut as many of the ropes at they could, but the need to duck the soldiers' fire meant that some of the redcoats managed to clamber aboard before they could get to that particular rope. More and more men swarmed onto the deck. At such a close range, pistols had little effect. Will ducked as a soldier lunged at him with a bayonet, and as he twisted out of the way, he struck out at the man's legs. The redcoat fell, clutching his wounded limb. For a very brief moment, Will considered finishing him off, but with a wounded leg, he was unlikely to be of much use to his comrades and it ill-suited him to kill a man who was already down. He moved on.

The battle surged; it was not as large as most of the other battles he had ever been in, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in ferocity. The redcoats did not seem to fear death, and he was not familiar with the concept of fearless redcoats. It occurred to him that perhaps they were terrified, just not of dying by pirate swords. Sparrow had a reputation for being a bit...well, not just a _bit_ cruel. Red surrounded him; redcoats, red blood. The slick deck only grew slicker. Many had fallen; he recognized the boy who had admitted his fear of death. He was lying with his head being propped up by the mast, his limp limps splayed out, and a seeping hole in his chest. His mouth was still open in a silent scream of pain. Then there was Cooper, dangling over the rail with glistening reddish purple ropes of intestines hanging out of him. The stench of blood and human waste was overwhelming.

"Turner!" The entire battle froze at the sound of that one voice. It was familiar and so different at the same time. Gone was the atrocious accent, replaced by one that even Elizabeth would be impressed with. There were no drunken slurs, no questionable tones, and definitely a severe lack of the words 'mate' and 'savvy'. He hadn't thought it was possible to miss Jack that much. "Why do you even bother to fight? You know you cannot win."

Will slowly turned to face him. He set his jaw, unwilling to let this man of getting the full satisfaction of apparently winning. It wasn't quite over yet; at least, not while he still had breath left his body. The wind was growing stronger. It whipped his hair around his head, tearing at it like cold fingers. He gave a grim smile. Sparrow was trying to intimidate him? It would take more than arrogant words to intimidate a Turner. "If I'm going down, Sparrow, I'm taking you with me," he said, pointing his sword at the other man. "Life would be a bit bleak without you to make trouble for me, and I have a feeling that it would apply to the afterlife as well."

Sparrow laughed. "Oh, your bravado never ceases do amuse me, young William," he said. "However, I have no intention of ever finding out what the afterlife is like."

"I suppose you think you can find the Fountain of Youth," said Will. "Don't worry; I'll kill you before that happens."

"Empty threats," said Sparrow, waving them away. "Although, I am surprised by how much you have changed, Turner. You have grown so reckless! I suppose I am lucky, because I do not doubt that you would have dragged on this pointless struggle for far too long, otherwise. Now, I have not come to make small-talk with you. You are a straightforward man, and I shall be straightforward with you. I have an offer for you. Hand over the sextant, and I shall let your men go free, provided they swear that they will never take up arms against the Crown and the East India Trading Company again. Unfortunately, someone must be held accountable for all the raids, so I am afraid I cannot extend that offer to your person."

"Captain, no," said Norrington. "Sparrow would never keep his word, at any rate. I would rather die than surrender."

"Ah, Captain Norrington," said James. "How good it is to see you again. I must admit, I have seen you in better shape. Life as a an outlaw does not befit a gentleman like you, my friend."

"Save your smooth tongue for someone who can appreciate it, Sparrow," spat Norrington. "I'm certainly not cultured enough."

"Ah, charming, as always," said Sparrow. "Well, Captain Turner? What will it be? You can fight, and you will all die, or you cannot fight, and only one of you will die. Surely the choice should be obvious? Come now, Captain. I know you are no simpleton, or else you would not have been able to elude me for so long."

Will thought about it. If he did hand himself over, there was every chance in the world that Sparrow would not keep his word. However, if he didn't, they were all going to die. Enough blood had been spilled already; he didn't want more to be spilled simply because he was too proud to surrender. Of course, he had neglected to consider the sextant in his calculations. If he could somehow use that against Sparrow... "Done," he said. "You let my men go, and I shall come with you. But I know you, Sparrow, so I will add my own conditions. You provide my men with a ship and set them free without harassing them, or else you'll never see that sextant."

"You really think you can hide it from me?" asked Sparrow, clearly amused. "My dear Captain, you are overestimating yourself."

"Am I?" challenged Will. If Jack could make things up as he went along, why couldn't he? "I have hidden from you all these years, haven't I? What makes you think I can't hide a tiny little sextant, or even have it destroyed?"

For the first time, Sparrow's smile faltered. "You wouldn't," he said. "Your father entrusted it to you!"

"He entrusted it to me so that I can keep it from _you_," said Will. "I'm sure he'll forgive me for taking drastic measures." Well, _his_ father would have forgiven him, although he wasn't sure whether William's father would be the same. However, the sextant was not about to be destroyed, and there was absolutely no harm in fabricating complete lies in order to convince Sparrow that he was the right William Turner. That was the only way the other man would cease to look for William, and thus give his friends a chance to come up with some suicidal rescue attempt. "So, what's your answer, Sparrow? It's either that, or I take my secret with me to a watery grave."

"Fine," said Sparrow. "It is not as if your rabble of outlaws matter to me. Do you really think they can survive without you?"

"Now you're making me blush."

* * *

Norrington really didn't like the idea of leaving Admiral Turner in the hands of James Sparrow, but what other choice did he have? The man had already made the deal with Sparrow —more dangerous than a deal with the Devil, in his opinion— and there was nothing anyone could do to change his mind. In this respect, he was just like William. Surprisingly enough —and probably because he didn't want to risk losing the sextant— James Sparrow had remained true to his word and provided a ship for them. It was a poorly vessel, but Norrington was more than skilled enough to sail it back to Harbour Island. The only problem was making sure that no one followed them back to their hidden stronghold.

"I want Mister Mercer to accompany me at all times," said Will as he was 'escorted' onto the _HMS Mercenary_.

"Mercer?" said Sparrow, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, Mercer," said Will. "I have heard a lot about him, and I want to know if all I have heard is true. He will not leave my side. If he does, I shall find some way to kill myself and you will never find out where that sextant is."

"You would not dare," said Sparrow.

"Oh yes, I would," said Will. "I'm a man with nothing to lose. Why would I lie?" All right, so that was ironic. He was telling one of the biggest lies he had ever told in his life. Actually, apart from that time when he pretended to be a god in Troy, this was the _only_ other lie he had ever told, with that third lie being that bet with Davy Jones. Omitting certain truths was not the same as lying.

* * *

It was night by the time Jack deemed that they had gathered enough information —and trinkets— from James Sparrow's mansion. "And now, we get out," said Jack as he to tuck one last valuable illuminated manuscript into his already-too-tight jacket. It wouldn't fit, so he thrust it at Balian. "Take this. You need readin' material, savvy?"

"No, I don't," said Balian, but he took it anyway. It _could_ come in useful, although how, he had absolutely no idea.

"Now, I jus' got one more thing to do," said Jack. "I'll be right back. Stay here, pretend to moan or whatever, and wait fer me, savvy?" With that, he darted out of the door and shut it softly behind him.

* * *

The corridor was lit by a series of candelabras lining it, making it easy to see. The few servants still awake at this hour bowed to Jack as he passed by. He paid them no heed, as he expected James Sparrow would have done. After all, he was not a proper gentleman who knew how to treat everyone graciously, unlike himself. "Lady Sparrow is asleep, I presume?" he asked one of the servants, hoping that she would somehow give him a clue as to where the woman was.

"Yes, milord," said the servant girl, dipping a surprised curtsey. "She was nervous, so I made her a comfit—I apologize, sir, I didn't meant to babble on. I'm just—" Jack held up a hand to silence the poor creature. Everyone seemed to be terrified by James Sparrow. He wasn't even deliberately being intimidating, although others have told him that he could be quite terrifying, especially with his table manners and drinking habits. "Go and wake her. Tell her I have something to discuss with her. I shall be waiting in my study."

The young woman curtseyed again and then more or less fled to do his bidding. Jack ducked back inside the study.

"Well?" said Balian. "Are you done?"

"Not even close, my dear knight," said Jack. "Now, I need you to hide somewhere, savvy? Don't want you frightening the poor woman when she comes in, you bein' covered in chicken blood and rotten vegetables and all." He fluttered his hands at the men, who looked as if they wanted to laugh, but didn't dare. However, they scrambled to conceal themselves behind furniture and under that huge desk without asking Jack which woman he was talking about.

Jack settled himself in one of the large armchairs and then poured himself a glass of port from the pitcher on the low table beside him. It wasn't rum, but it would have to do for now. He desperately needed alcohol to clear his mind and make him feel more like himself. There was a soft knock on the door. "Enter," he barked. Then he poured his port on the sniggering man who was hiding behind his chair and just managed to set down his glass as Eliza Sparrow slipped in. She was looking way too proper for a woman who had just gotten out of bed. Not even a strand of golden hair was escaping from her nightcap.

"What is so important, James, that it could not wait until morning?" she asked.

"I want to show you something, Eliza," he said, holding out a hand to her. Elizabeth had made him clean his fingernails too. Eliza seemed surprised by this affectionate gesture and she hesitated slightly before placing her delicate hand in his.

"I thought you would be occupied tonight," she said meekly.

"Well, he confessed," said Jack.

"He is going to tell you where the sextant is?" said Eliza. She looked as if she was trying to summon some excitement, but Jack could see through her act. She seemed relieved, and at the same time, sorrowful. Was it possible that she harboured feelings for William still? "What will you do with him?" she asked, even more quietly this time.

"Well, someone has to help me navigate," said Jack. "He's the only one who knows where it is. After that...we will see. Now, my dear, why don't you get dressed. Meet me back here when you are ready, and then we shall be off."

"Of course, James," said Eliza. "I shall be very quick."

When she was gone, Balian burst out of his hiding place from under the desk so quickly that he hit his head. "Are you mad, Jack Sparrow?" he demanded.

"It depends on yer definition of madness," said Jack.

"You cannot possibly steal Sparrow's wife!"

"Why not? I mean, I stole his paperweight. Whoa, Sir Knight, I think you'd better sit down. That is not a healthy colour."

* * *

Eliza had never thought that this day would come, when she would see James subdue William. She wanted to weep for him, for the naive young man who had long since morphed into a figure of legend. She wanted to weep because she knew that he was going to die, and her hopes of someday being free would die along with him. The woman regarded the reflection in her mirror as her maid pinned up her hair. She felt as if she was staring at the serene and expressionless face of a complete stranger. Surely, the pain she felt should be evident in her own face.

"All done, milady," said the maid.

"Thank you, Emily," said Eliza. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She wasn't prepared to see William properly. She wasn't prepared to look him in the eye. They had both changed so much over the years. Would the bond that they had felt as children still exist? Or would that have changed too, becoming bitter and distorted? Well, there was nothing for it. James wanted her to come, and thus she had to come.

Her skirts rustled as she stood. It was time.

Somehow, James had miraculously conjured up the prisoner during the time she had spent on getting ready. Of course, this was James, and she'd learned long ago that it would be wise not to question him. She had asked too many questions tonight already. It was sheer luck that he was in such an uncommonly good mood. Perhaps it was the prospect of finally getting that sextant.

William was shackled, hand and foot, and his torn clothes were stained with blood, no doubt his own. There was a scar on the side of his face, long healed. Eliza swallowed and looked away from him. "Well, Eliza," said James. "I'm sure you remember Mister Turner, so I won't introduce you again." He offered his arm to her, and she took it, all the while keeping her eyes lowered, which was why she didn't notice her 'husband' winking at 'William', who rolled his eyes. Otherwise, she would have realized that something wasn't quite right.

* * *

Jack could not believe how easy it had been. If this had been Elizabeth instead of Eliza, his cover would have been blown long ago. "Are we not taking the carriage, James?" she asked as they walked through the gates. Um...oops. He didn't exactly want to take the carriage, as that would slow them down, but how could he tell her that?

"It's such a beautiful night, darling," he said. "I thought we might enjoy it."

"Oh," said Eliza, at a complete loss for words. It was unclear whether her speechlessness was brought on by Jack's cordiality or his usage of the endearment 'darling'. The pirate supposed that both were just as shocking, considering he was supposed to be James Sparrow. "I didn't know you enjoyed such things."

"Well, now that I have that sextant, I can take time to enjoy life," said Jack. He remembered just in time that he was not supposed to flash any of his brilliant charming grins, lest someone noticed his gold teeth.

The ship was bobbing a slight distance away from the dock, just where they had left it. Jack helped Eliza into the boat —He did not want a repeat performance of his first encounter with Elizabeth— and was about to take up the oars when he remembered that he was supposed to let everyone else do all the work. He snapped his fingers at one of William's men and then pointed at the oars. Well, he might as well enjoy being his lordship while he could. It wasn't going to last.

Eliza kept on stealing glances at the boat that held 'William'. Yes, she definitely still had feelings for him. Now, Jack might have been a worldly pirate, but that did not mean he was immune to the joys of romance, and he fancied himself being something of a matchmaker. After all, without him, Lizzie and the Whelp would never have gotten married. A plan was already forming in his head. Why not rekindle this stalled romance? He could already hear Anamaria scolding him, telling him that he really shouldn't stick his nose in other couples' business, especially since he was not exactly Romeo —he really rued the day Elizabeth had introduced her to the damned world of English literature. And, of course, darling Lizzie would have her say, and then bloody Barbossa.

He clambered up the steps on the side of the boat and then pulled Eliza on board. He heard swearing. A lot of it. "Bloody hell, Jack! You stole Sparrow's wife!" cried Fisher.

Eliza's mouth fell open. She stared at Fisher, and then whipped around to gape at Jack. "You...you...! You are not James! How is it...how..."

"Sorry, luv," said Jack, treating her to the full effect of his dazzling grin, except it didn't seem to be working. "I couldn't think of any other way."

"How did you—never mind. James will come looking for me, and he will have you hanged," said Eliza.

"Oh, I'm sure he'd like that, darling, but I doubt he'd manage it," said Jack. "Now, I'm afraid you ain't been properly introduced, and that's not very civilized of us, is it?" He gave an extravagant bow. "I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow —note the 'Captain' part before me name— and that over there—" He pointed at Balian. "—is _not_ William Turner."

"This is...madness..." The poor woman looked as if she was about to faint, and she would have collapsed onto the deck if Jack had not caught her in time. "How can...How did...What are you?"

"Well, luv, I'd say we're pirates, but the Turner-lookalike over there is a knight and he'd never consent to bein' called a pirate, nor is he good enough to be one."

"Thank you for your vote of confidence, Jack," said Balian. "I feel so much better in knowing that I can never become a skully-wag like you."

"It's a scallywag, mate," said Jack. "Now, why don't you take the lady down to the captain's cabin, since you're pretty much useless on a ship?"

* * *

They stared at one another, both trying to intimidate the other man, and neither were willing to back down. Will knew Mercer, or rather, he knew the other Mercer. The man didn't seem to have enough aspects to him to warrant an 'other self' who was much different from the original. The only difference he could discern was that this one worked for a Sparrow instead of a Beckett. The shackles chafed his wrists, but he ignored the discomfort. Now was the time to start praying to whatever deities existed. The angels seemed to have a vested interest in Balian, at least according to the Frenchman, and Will wondered if he had a personal guardian angel who was willing to bend the rules to help him. It would certainly be helpful. Or would he be able to somehow get word to Hector? Was this world even under the jurisdiction of the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_? Or would it even be the same _Dutchman_? He certainly did not want to see Davy Jones again. There was no lost love between them.

"You're a dead man, Turner," sneered Mercer. "And it'll be a sweet moment when you're swinging by your neck from the gallows."

"Well, I've cheated death more times than you can count," taunted Will. "Mind you, that's not a very great number, but who's to say I won't do it again?"

"There is always a first for everything, Captain Turner," said another voice. Sparrow. He descended the steps with the poised grace of a prince, although he was nowhere near noble enough to be one. A proper one, that was. Jonathan Beckett was following him like a meek lapdog. "I must say I am rather surprised by your cavalier attitude," continued Sparrow.

"I am a dead man," said Will. "What's the point of panicking?" It was actually a rather tempting notion, but he wasn't going to give into it. If Jack ever found out that he panicked, he would never hear the end of it.

"Yes, yes, I see your point," said Sparrow. "Now, about our bargain. The sextant?"

Will could have continued to bluff his way through all this if not for Jonathan Beckett. "Sir," he said, stepping forwards. "Look at the scar on his chest. This is not the Turner you wanted."

* * *

Anna-Maria frowned as she caught sight of the unknown ship sailing for Harbour Island. How had it found them? They were not on any map, and no one in the settlement would betray their location, would they? Then she saw one of the men on board waving frantically. Norrington! He was back, but what had happened? Where was the _Buccaneer_? A small crowd had gathered by the time the ship docked. She pushed her way through the throngs of people. Something was not right; she could feel it in her bones. "Jim!" she shouted. "What happened?"

"Not here!" he replied. "I need to see the captain now, and Jack, if he's back."

"What's wrong, Norrington?" asked the small woman. "You know you can't hide things from me."

"Sparrow has the Admiral. We need the other Sparrow."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the late update. Essays. Need I say more?


	12. The Cat's Out of the Bag

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize; they all belong to their respective owners. I'm just borrowing them for the purpose of this tale, and I intend to return them sometime in the near future.

**Chapter 12: The Cat's Out of the Bag**

Damn Jonathan Beckett to Hell and back! If it weren't for him, he would have been fine right now and lying for all he was worth to convince James Sparrow that yes, he was William Turner and yes, he was going to take him to the sextant. He was really going to die. There was no way Norrington would be able to find the others in time to save him.

"Not the Turner that I wanted?" whispered James Sparrow. Will was beginning to wonder if the man even knew how to blink, so intense was his stare; so penetrating, as if he could see everything, and yet he obviously couldn't, which was a relief, but not much. "Then which Turner is this?" The calm voice belied the barely concealed rage that twisted his otherwise handsome features.

"This is the Turner my brother dealt with, I believe, sir," said Beckett. "Rumour has it that he died and then returned as the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, which involved a ritual during which his heart was removed." Will itched to wipe the smug smile off the younger Beckett's face. He was just like his brother, except he needed to rely on others to carry out what he obviously could not. At least Cutler Beckett had done some of his own dirty work.

Will set his jaw and stared back at Sparrow. He'd died once, and he'd been to Hell and gotten out alive to tell the tale. Nothing frightened him much anymore, except the prospect of leaving his family behind once again, and this time, there was more to lose. But he had chosen this, pretty much. He had volunteered to 'play' William, knowing the risks involved. He had chosen to leave his children behind in Minas Tirith in the care of trusted friends so that he could accompany other friends on this quest to find the Fountain of Youth. He had no one to blame for his predicament except himself, and perhaps Jonathan Beckett, who had ruined his act.

Sparrow grabbed Will by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the wall of the brig so forcefully that for a moment, Will could see nothing but white light as his head struck the bars. "Where is the sextant?" demanded Sparrow, still sounding calm even though he was anything but.

Will's ears were ringing from the blow to his head, but he heard himself laugh humourlessly. "What makes you think that slamming me against the bars of the brig will make me tell you?" he said.

"I wonder if you will be so good humoured after Mercer is through with you," hissed Sparrow.

"With all due respect, I don't think your mercenary can do anything to me that will make me say anything," said Will. Yes, Jack had definitely rubbed off on him. And Paris' quick tongue. And Legolas' sarcasm.

"I would not bet on it if I were you, Mister Turner," said Sparrow.

* * *

"You're not William." That was the first thing Eliza Sparrow said to Balian after he had helped her sit down on one of the two chairs in the captain's cabin. She had been sitting there a while, regaining her colour as she absorbed the shocking revelation that she had been kidnapped by a pirate masquerading as her husband.

"No," said Balian. This was very awkward, and he didn't know what else to say.

"What's going on?" asked the woman, clearly frightened. "Why do you want me? You know James will find you, and then he will have you all hanged."

"Begging your pardon, madam, but I don't think he can," said Balian.

"You don't know James, sir, if you think there is anything that is beyond him," said Eliza. "But you have not answered my question. What do you want with me? A ransom? You won't get it. When he comes, he won't be coming for me."

"You were not part of the plan, madam, as far as I know," said Balian slowly. So this James Sparrow did not care for his clearly miserable wife? An idea was beginning to form in his head, and he had to smile, despite how uncomfortable he was feeling. For all his claims about being an amoral pirate, Jack Sparrow had a good heart, although he would rather die than admit it. "I suppose Jack simply wanted to help you."

"Help me? By kidnapping me?" said Eliza. "You, sir, have a very twisted definition of the word 'help'."

"I think that this would be more accurately termed a rescue, madam," said Balian. "A rescue is not always welcome, at least not at first." Yes, he could see a little bit of Elizabeth in her now, even though he doubted that Eliza would ever become as fearsome as the Pirate King. Still, there was a fire in her that he had not noticed before, not that he had paid her much attention.

"One would think that I would know if I wanted to be rescued or not," said Eliza Sparrow. "Where are you taking me, anyway?"

"I don't think I've been authorized to tell you," said Balian. Eliza's mouth opened, but no words came out. She was outraged by his behaviour. He could almost read her thoughts. How dared a pirate speak to her thusly? "Although, I suppose there's no harm in telling you that we are taking you back to Captain Turner."

"The real one?" said Eliza drily.

"Yes, the real one," said Balian.

"Please don't tease me anymore, sir," said Eliza. "To be quite frank with you, I am tired, and I want the truth."

"It is the truth, madam."

The blood seemed to drain out of Eliza's face for the second time this evening. "Dear Lord," she whispered. "I can't face him."

* * *

It wasn't until they neared the captain's quarters that Norrington started to panic. Just a little. By now, Sparrow must have discovered the truth about 'William Turner'. What if the other Turner wasn't strong enough? The techniques that Sparrow employed to persuade men to tell him the truth were legendary, and not in a good way. Personally, he hadn't seen those techniques for himself, neither as a spectator nor a victim — thank God. His imagination was running rampant, even though he prided himself on being a —relatively— rational man. He couldn't help it. There were too many horror stories about Sparrow for him to be able to distinguish between the man and the nightmare.

William came out to meet them before they even reached the door. One look was all it took for the captain to realize that something had gone terribly wrong. "God, James," he said. "What happened?"

"They caught up to us," said Norrington. "The _Buccaneer_ sank and they rounded us up like pests to be exterminated."

"Then how did you escape?" asked William, reaching out with one hand to grip his arm.

"Admiral Turner handed himself over to Sparrow in exchange for our freedom," said Norrington, bowing his head. Then he whipped around as he heard someone gasp behind him.

Elizabeth reached out frantically to brace herself against the wall. She had overheard him. Her face seemed to grow ashen before their very eyes, and if Paris hadn't been there to catch her, Norrington was quite certain that she would have collapsed. "Will..." she whispered.

"We'll get him back, Elizabeth," said Paris. "I promise. Even if it costs me my life, we'll get him back."

Elizabeth nodded mutely, although she never once took her eyes away from Norrington, who, all of a sudden, felt as if this was all his fault even though there was no reason for it. "I am sorry, Mrs. Turner," he said, knowing how inadequate that expression of regret was. The woman didn't need sympathy. She needed a proper plan on how to get her husband back.

"What are you sorry for?" whispered Elizabeth. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, even though her voice was strangely harsh and low pitched. "That's just my Will. It's what he would do."

"What happened?" asked another voice. The golden haired one. Legolas.

"What did the lad do this time?" enquired the dwarf, who seemed to be the elf's constant companion. As always, Norrington didn't know how to speak to them. He was still adjusting to the idea that there were such things as elves and dwarves in the world.

"He exchanged himself for the others' freedom," said Paris. "And now we have to get him back before he gets himself killed."

* * *

So this was where William had been hiding himself for so many years. Eliza hadn't seen any place more daunting than this island surrounded by high black cliffs. Gulls wheeled overhead, no more than tiny specks in the cloudless sky. Their mournful calls filtered down to her. She felt so alone, even though she was surrounded by men. They were kind men, although she would not go so far to call them gentlemen. The man called Jack Sparrow —she could not bring herself to refer to him simply by his Christian name— was artfully steering the ship through the narrowest opening in the insurmountable cliffs. High walls, smoothed by many years of weathering, rose above them on either side, so close that Eliza almost fancied she could touch them if she only reached out. Not that she was going to do such a silly thing. If she had been her younger self, she might have, but that Eliza had grown up a long time ago.

She felt as if she was standing at the edge of a precipice, staring down into unknown dark depths. This was the first time in over ten years that she would set eyes upon William Turner. She could hardly understand how she was feeling, let alone anticipate what he would think when he saw her. The years must surely have changed them both so much that they would be no more than strangers to one another now.

"Hey, don't fall in," called Sparrow. Eliza threw him an irritated glance. It would be quite safe to say that she did not like him, not only because he had kidnapped her, but because he seemed to have all the traits that she did not want in a man. Although, come to think of it, James had quite a few of those traits too. However, James was not perpetually drunk, which was more than she could say for this Sparrow. "The last time I rescued a woman from drownin', I almost got hanged."

Well, she didn't want to know the exact details of _that_ story. Luckily, Jack Sparrow turned his attention to another of the sailors and began hollering at him. The man had the most atrocious accent; he sounded like a fishmonger in poorer parts of London, to be quite honest, yet she knew he _could_ speak properly. He simply chose not to. She didn't know what he was trying to achieve by sounding like a fishmonger.

The island hidden behind those cliffs just looked like a very normal settlement, at least from a distance. She could hear the men whispering. Well, two men. Jack Sparrow and Balian the Frenchman could not be more different. One was solemn, whilst the other did not seem to take anything very seriously. Yet, it was clear that they were the ones who were playing the most important roles in this operation, and they seemed to be rather good friends, even if both seemed to like to insult the other as much as possible. It was a dynamic that she was not used to.

A sudden gust of wind blew against her face, and her hat, not having been tied very tightly, was swept away into the air, floating on the currents as if it aspired to be more than just a hat. She called out in alarm and her hand flew to restrain her hair, which was threatening to escape from the hastily put together coif. The men did make a few attempts to catch the errant article of clothing, but the wind tossed it out of their reach and into the water. Normally, Eliza would not be so distressed by the loss of a hat —she could always get another— but this time, it was different. It was one of the few ties she had to the life she had been ripped away from, to put it not so delicately. She was under a lot of stress, and therefore, her irrational attachment to the hat was justified, or so she thought.

"You look better without it, luv," said Sparrow, reaching out to put an arm around her shoulders. She jerked away.

"Do not touch me," she hissed.

"All right, all right," said the pirate, holding up both hands, with his palms facing her, to show that he meant no harm. "I was just tryin' to be friendly. It ain't no crime."

"You are despicable," she said. No, she had not forgiven him even the slightest for kidnapping her.

"That's what you think right now, missy, but you'll change yer mind," said the man, completely unperturbed. He sauntered off back to the wheel, even though there was already someone at it.

"You need not be alarmed," said the husky low voice of the Frenchman. His speech was accented, but not so heavily that she could not understand him, and in a way, the lilt of his speech was very soothing. Then again, perhaps she only found his voice soothing because he behaved more like a gentleman than the rest of them. She had heard of captives becoming attached to their captors. Perhaps this was happening to her right now, although she swore that she would never _ever _become attached to this Sparrow. "That's just the way Jack is. He means no harm by it."

"I beg to differ," said Eliza. "All outlaws are the same. They rape, they pillage, they plunder, they kill; they have no respect for civilized laws or the lives of decent people."

"In the eyes of your laws, I am an outlaw," said the Frenchman quietly. "And so is William."

* * *

Sweat gleamed on his skin in the dim flickering candlelight. He gasped for breath. "Still not talking, Mister Turner?" asked Mercer, amused at his resilience. "You're only making this difficult for yourself, not that I mind."

Will worked up what moisture he could in his mouth and spat at his tormentor. The bloody spittle hit Mercer squarely in the face. "It's Admiral to you." said Will. "_Admiral_ Turner." Well, if he was going to be tortured, the best he could do was make life difficult for his tormentors, although in his position —tied up to a stake and half naked— that wasn't so easy to do.

Mercer wiped the spittle off his face. "You want to do this the hard way, _Admiral_? That's fine by me." He jerked his head at two of the waiting redcoats. "Take him outside. Let's see how well _Admiral_ Turner deals with the Cat."

* * *

"I'm back, and guess who I brought, eh—did I miss somethin'?" Everyone turned to where Jack was standing in the doorway, having returned in triumph. One look at their expressions told the pirate that something was very wrong. He looked around. Something was missing, or rather, someone. "Where's the Whelp?" His gaze settled on a pale and drawn Elizabeth.

"Sparra took Will," said Anamaria quietly.

"And we need to get him back," said Achilles.

"Is there something _else_ that you wish to tell us, my lord Achilles?" said Paris. "Of course we need to get him back!"

"What we be not agreein' on be the 'how'," said Barbossa, looking pointedly at Paris.

"I simply don't think that rushing in there with no strategy is going to work," said Paris. "Sparrow is an intelligent man, and he will be prepared. Besides, we need to find Will first."

"Well, that's simple, innit?" said Jack as he produced the compass and held it out to Elizabeth. As he stepped away from the door, the others were able to see the people who stood behind him. For a moment, no one said anything, for they were in shock. It was William who found his voice first.

"Miss Eliza?" he whispered.

"Eliza Sparrow?" said Norrington. "Good God, Jack! You kidnapped Sparrow's wife?"

* * *

Elizabeth stared long and hard at her other self. She couldn't believe that she had had the potential to become...this. No, Eliza was not her. She might have the same face, but that was where the similarities ended. Emotions were welling up inside the Pirate King; she felt irrational hatred for this woman, although her only crime was in being a good obedient daughter and a properly brought up woman. After all, it was her husband who was no doubt torturing Will right now. She felt a hand on her shoulder. "Easy on 'er, missy," whispered Barbossa. "She be not too different from you when I first met ye."

Eliza was standing awkwardly in the doorway, with Balian behind her. Her hands were clasped and her eyes were lowered, although not out of any sign of respect, but because she couldn't bear to make eye contact with William. She was aware that everyone was staring at her, and that not all of the gazes were welcoming, especially not...oh Lord! Her knees felt weak and they buckled beneath her. Strong hands steadied her and Balian gently guided her over to a vacated chair. He might not have spoken to her ever since that incident on the ship, but he was still as attentive and considerate as he had ever been. And the man who had let her take his chair... She nodded her thanks to him, not trusting herself to speak yet. He, in return, dipped his head the way any gentleman in civilized society would. Jack Sparrow had called him 'Norrie'. She was quite certain that this was not his real name.

"Who knew that Jack could be influenced, and by me, of all people?" said another one of the men. This one, too, had William's face, although he sounded nothing like William. No, he was a courtier through and through, as could be seen by the way he held himself and the way he spoke. Beside him was a tall golden haired...being. He also had William's face, but the difference between him and everyone else was so astounding that it was impossible to mistake him for an ordinary man. Was it possible that angels walked amongst mortals?

"I'm perfectly capable of stealin' other men's wives without your influence, princeling," retorted the pirate. "'Sides, I didn't 'steal' her. I charmed her."

"Now I definitely know that you learned that from me," said the 'princeling'.

"I suppose the clean teeth helped," said a voice that reminded Elizabeth of the rumblings of a tropical thunder storm. At first, she could not see the speaker, but when she looked more closely, she realized that there was a short bearded creature sitting on an ottoman, chewing on the stem of a short unlit clay pipe. The masses of red hair sprouting from him obscured much of his face, but she could see kindly eyes looking back at her. She swallowed and fought the urge to stare. Ladies did not stare, and she was a still a lady, despite her predicament.

"So you think, Gimli, mate," said Jack Sparrow, "but Scarlett and Giselle liked me just fine."

"They liked you because you had money," retorted Gimli.

"Not all the time," said Sparrow.

"Gentlemen, enough!" said the woman who looked just like Eliza. Her voice was sharp and harsh, as if she was used to giving orders all her life. Actually, judging by the way she looked, she probably did give orders all the time. She had an air not unlike James'. "I don't care who learned seduction methods from who. I just want my husband back, and I suppose we have the method now." Her gaze never left Eliza as she spoke.

"You want to trade Miss Eliza for Will?" said William. "Will it work?"

The discussion went on around Eliza, as if she was merely something to barter with. It was making her nervous. Her hands were shaking so much that she was afraid someone might see. She was afraid of so many things.

"She's Sparrow's wife," said the woman. Her name was Elizabeth. This was too much to be a coincidence. Eliza wondered if she had somehow fallen down the stairs and hit her head. That would explain this nightmare. She pinched the skin on the back of her hand and felt the sting. No, this was not a nightmare. "Surely he would do anything to get his wife back."

"He wouldn't," said Eliza suddenly, surprising even herself with her boldness. "He would avenge me, but he would not trade his victory for my life. I know what I am worth in his eyes." Was that really her speaking? Someone else seemed to be in control of her body. She felt as if she was merely a spectator, looking down on the unfolding scene.

"How do we know you're not lying," said Elizabeth, narrowing her eyes.

"Why would I lie?" asked Eliza. It was a valid question. If James was not going to ransom her, then she would be of no use to these outlaws. They would have no reason to keep her alive; at least, no practical reason. She knew she was taking a huge risk, relying on William's residual feelings for her and the consciences of men who supposedly had none. They were, after all, ruffians of the worst sort, or so she had been brought up to believe.

"Well, that's that," said Jack. He scratched his chin. "Anyone have a backup plan?"

* * *

James Sparrow stirred sugar into his tea. Two cubes. He liked it sweet. Of course, nothing seemed to be able to sweeten his temper today. "I can wait forever, Turner," he said, "but I don't know if you can."

The man in question was tied to the mast. He rested his forehead against the wood. Sweat mingled with drying blood from the open lacerations on his back. Dark hair clung to his sweaty face. He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and then exhaled shakily. The only sound coming from him was the sound of his breathing.

"Then again, I suppose the cat has not made enough of an impression on you," said Sparrow. He liked to consider himself a patient man, but even the most patient man could run out of patience. He motioned to the sailor who was holding yet another red bag. The man reached inside to pull out the Cat; nine thongs of plaited leather, each with a knot at the end containing a single piece of wire. Sparrow took a sip of his tea and then held out his hand for the whip. He needed to take out some of his pent out frustration on someone.

* * *

Jonathan was content, at least for the moment. Will Turner would break, and soon, he would be dangling from the gallows. Revenge was sweet. The rhythmic sound of leather striking flesh was music to his ears; too bad he couldn't hear Turner scream. Blood was pouring down the other man's back. Sometimes, the thongs curled around his body and tore stripes of red on his chest and belly. It was all over too soon. Sparrow lowered his arm and did not raise it again.

"He hasn't spoken yet, milord," said Beckett.

"Yes," said Sparrow. "And if I want him to speak, I shall have to let him recover a bit first. Take him to the brig."

* * *

The entire town was abuzz with the news and also much confusion. Hadn't Turner already been apprehended? What was Lord Sparrow doing bringing _another_ Turner back to Port Saint James for trial and execution? What had happened to the other Turner anyway?

James was not aware of any of this, of course. No one had thought to tell him that he had already captured the most notorious pirate of the seven seas and therefore he had no need to catch another 'most notorious pirate of the seven seas'. "Eliza!" he called as he strode into the mansion. His footsteps echoed in the vast emptiness. He was tired, he was dirty, and he wanted a bath.

"Sir, what is it?" asked one of the older maids, hurrying out to greet him.

"Where is Lady Sparrow?" demanded James.

"We thought she would be with you, milord," said the confused servant. As with all his servants, she did not look up at him, but simply kept her gaze focused on the floor. He liked it better that way.

"With me? What are you saying, fool?" he said. "The last time I saw her, she was seeing me off at the gate."

"But then you came back and took her with you, sir," said the very confused and frightened woman. She was visibly shaking, not that James cared enough.

"Out," he said. "Out!" The woman hastily scrambled away. James stormed up the stairs and into his study. The place was as meticulous as it always was, but there were things missing. His desk was much too tidy...and empty. The pieces were coming together in his mind. He knew he hadn't come back for Eliza, therefore, the only explanation for the servant's claim. James was not about to put his own face on notices calling for the apprehension of a dangerous and wanted fugitive.

"Fetch me Mr. Beckett!" he shouted. If he was going to somehow outplay this Jack, he needed someone who knew him.

* * *

**A/N: **I've handed in my essays and now I'm free until my midterms! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	13. Luck

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize.

**Chapter 13: Luck**

"If you want to catch a sparrow, you have to lure him out first," Beckett had said. James could have taken offence to that, considering that he was a sparrow, but it made sense. Sparrows were tiny birds with dull feathers that helped them to blend into their surroundings. If one stayed still amongst a pile of leaves or in the branches of a tree, it would be nigh impossible to spot it. But how to lure out the cautious little sparrow?

_Bait_. If this Jack Sparrow really cared about Turner as much as Beckett said he did, then no doubt he would be planning to rescue his friend. The question, then, became how Sparrow would rescue his friend. If his plan was to work, everything had to be in his control. "Mercer!" he called sharply. In an instant, the man was at the door. "Get anything you can out of Turner," he said. "And make it quick, because the man is going to hang in a week. Make sure all the colonies know. I want it to be very public."

* * *

"A week?" whispered Elizabeth. She reached out with a hand, blindly grasping, as if by doing so, she could somehow accidentally grab her husband. Anamaria caught her hand and helped her into a chair before she fainted. "That doesn't leave us much time."

"The amount of time doesn't matter, Lizzie, as long as we make it count," said Jack. "Methinks this is a trap to lure us out."

"It be quite obvious, Sparra," said Barbossa.

"The question is, will you be lured out?" asked Norrington.

"Of course!" said Jack. "The Whelp risked his life to save me from the gallows, and I don't relish the knowledge of owing people, especially not him. Of course, I also saved him that other time, but it was a bit different, savvy? We will all be lured out. One Captain Jack Sparrow and all three William Turners, as well as that imposter's lovely wife, or so he thinks."

"I want his head," said Elizabeth.

"Now, now, Lizzie, be nice," said Jack.

"But how will you ensure your success?" asked William. "If this is a trap, then he will be prepared. We do not have the men or the fire power."

"Perhaps we won't have the numbers," said Balian, "but as for fire power, we can have plenty of that."

"Add a touch of chaos..." said Jack.

"And one more William Turner," said Legolas suddenly, much to the surprise of all the others. "What? Can't I join in?"

"Come on, Elizabeth," said Anamaria. "We need to work a miracle."

"Miracles are commonplace with us," said Jack with a conspiratorial wink. "In fact, they're what we do best?"

"Beggin' yer pardon," drawled Barbossa. "I be thinkin' ye do disasters best, Sparra."

* * *

Will didn't know how long he'd been the cell. Pale slanted morning sunlight shone through the bars of the tiny window, striking his half naked body and revealing the many weeping wounds. He had no doubt that he now had an impressive set of scars. One eye was swollen shut, not that there was much to see. As far as he knew, the cell he was in had four walls, three of stone and one of metal bars. The door was also composed of metal bars, but unfortunately, they were not connected to the wall by half-barrel hinges. This wasn't Port Royal.

His arms were suspended above him, with his wrists still in manacles. The metal cuffs had chafed at his skin so much that it had broken, but that was the least of his concerns. Mercer had been thorough in his interrogation techniques. Each breath hurt; he was quite certain that he had a few cracked ribs. His arms felt as if they were being pulled out of their sockets, for his feet barely touched the straw-strewn floor of the cell.

"Good morning, Mister Turner," said the disgustingly cheerful voice of James Sparrow. Well, cheerful was the wrong word to describe it. Sparrow sounded so sure of himself and so calm that Will wanted nothing more than to spit in his face. That was, if he still had any moisture left in his mouth. His tongue felt as if it had turned into parchment. "I hope you are feeling more talkative today, because I dearly long for a proper conversation with you." He motioned to Mercer, who reached up and undid the manacles around Will's wrist. Had he been in a better shape, Will would have made a run for it, as futile as such an attempt would have been. However, he had not even the strength to stand.

Strong arms held him still, although that did not stop him from trying to struggle. He cursed his own weakness, his helplessness. "You're wasting your time, James," he said. His voice sounded alien to his ears. "You won't get anything out of me."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that," said Sparrow. The door of the cell remained open. Two redcoats carried in a brazier of burning coal with a few long pieces of iron in it. "I had hoped that we might be able to have a conversation like two civilized gentlemen. You seem to be a learned man, Mister Turner, and I trust that you understand the situation. You see, you and your little rabble of fishmongers and thieves will never win. You are only delaying the inevitable. I will hunt them down, one by one, and I will mark them as outlaws. Although, I suppose I ought to mark you first, seeing as I have you right here with me." With that, he grasped one of the pieces of metal by its polished bone handle and lifted it out of the brazier. At the end of the piece of metal was a design that Will knew very well. It was a backwards 'P', and it was red from the fire.

"Not very subtle, is it?" asked Sparrow. "Such an ugly symbol, that." Will lashed out against his captors dragged him to the bars of the cell and bound his arm to it, making sure that he could not move. The man sucked in deep breaths between his teeth, bracing himself for the pain. The fire seared his skin. He could not help but utter a short guttural cry, arching his back as the red hot metal was pressed onto his arm. The sickly sweet smell of burned flesh —his flesh— made him nauseous. If there had been anything in his stomach, he would have brought it up. As the brand was pulled away, taking bits of charred flesh with it, he doubled over and dry retched, gasping for breath. Sweat ran down his face, his chest, stinging open wounds.

"There, there," said Sparrow. He clucked his tongue, sounding almost sympathetic. "I warned you, Mister Turner. What a pity it is that you did not heed my warning. I do hope that little exercise has stimulated your tongue somewhat, however, and perhaps you are now more ready to talk?" He placed the brand back into the burning coals and began to finger the handle of another piece of metal that was heating in the flames.

"Three words," gasped Will as manacled were fastened around his wrists again and he was suspended from the rafters of the cell.

"I'm listening," said Sparrow.

"Go. To. Hell."

"I'm afraid, Mister Turner, that it will be you who will find yourself in Hell." Sparrow pulled another brand out of the brazier and pressed it against his chest. Once again, there was hissing and sizzling, followed by the smell. Sparrow pulled away the brand and then struck Will's back with it. A frenzied madness had taken over him. He rained blows down upon the man suspended from the rafters. There was no method. His eyes were wide with twisted pleasure and his grin was so wide that Will fancied he could count every single one of those blindingly white teeth. It was the look on a predator's face before he closed in for the kill.

* * *

No one noticed his face beneath the wide brim of his tattered straw hat. Balian kept his head down as he stalked down the cobbled street, trying to blend in as much as possible. His sword was wrapped up in lengths of linen. Jewelled hilts were not common in places such as Port Saint James. Everyone was talking about the impending execution of one William Turner that afternoon at three o'clock. He only had to listen to find out where the gallows were. Behind him, he could sense Elizabeth's impatience. She was almost breathing down his neck, not that she was tall enough. The group had split up to make themselves more inconspicuous. Jack had elected to accompany Anamaria and Paris. The goal was to all be at the gallows by half-two, and preferably before that. Balian had to admit that the women had yet again done the impossible with the disguises. So far, no one had recognized any of them. Their efforts had been helped by others who donated hair for fake beards. There had been no time for wigs. "We will get him back," he heard Legolas murmur softly to Elizabeth. The elf had hacked off at least half of his hair and then somehow dyed it without the use of henna, which was a rare commodity in these parts. He'd also managed to stain his skin.

Gimli had come along as well, of course. The dwarf had refused to be left behind and no one had even thought of leaving him. After all, he had now become quite adept at rescuing men from the executioner's block. Besides, more help never went amiss. He had disguised himself quite well with the largest hat he could find, and also some drastically altered clothing. His red beard still elicited some stares, but since no one had seen him before in Port Saint James, it hardly mattered. His size meant that no one saw him as a threat. More fool them.

"Do you think it will work?" whispered Gimli. "It sounds very outlandish, this plan of the lad's."

"It's Jack," said Balian. No one was listening to them or paying them very much attention. Good. "His ideas are always outlandish."

"Yes, well, this one's worse than most," said the dwarf. "After all, what do we do after we distract them?"

* * *

The hushed murmurs, the air of expectancy, the ominous beating of drums; all this reminded Will of a heathen sacrifice. His multiple crimes, most of which came down to defying James Sparrow, were read out. He almost laughed, and probably would have if his ribs weren't hurting so much. This was a repeat of Jack's almost-execution, without the exhilarating bits. William had not impersonated Spanish clergymen before, nor had he pretended to be a bishop of the Church of England. And most importantly, he didn't know if someone was going to rescue him in time. No doubt his friends would be trying, but Norrington —the other deceased one— had not had so many men guarding the gallows.

As the drum beats became one rumbling roar and the noose was tightened around Will's neck, there was suddenly an explosion. James Sparrow had expected men to attack the gallows, not blow up the armoury containing the town's gunpowder stocks. Smoke, fire and debris shot up fifty feet into the sky as the building burst into a single ball of broiling flames. It wasn't situated too far from the gallows, and therefore, he could see almost everything from his vantage point. Will did laugh this time. His friends had come for him, as he had hoped that they would. It was at that moment that four men burst out from the crowds. Swords were unsheathed, pistols were cocked. False beards and wide-brimmed hats were discarded to reveal four more 'William Turners'.

* * *

"Impossible," whispered James Sparrow. He could not believe what he was seeing. No, he had to be hallucinating. Two William Turners was already pushing it. Five was just...no. It was some trick. Yet, he could not tell who was the real one. They all looked so alike that it was unnatural. However, the worst shock was yet to come. As the 'Turners' attacked the guards surrounding the gallows, one other man leapt onto the gallows. That man, as it were, turned out to be not a man at all. A gust of wind whipped off his wide brimmed hat, and James caught sight of a face that was familiar and alien at the same time. "Eliza!" he shouted, even though he had not meant to shout. No, no. This was a nightmare; a nightmare in which his wife had become an Amazonian outlaw. Yet, how could this be a dream? His world was spinning out of control. Even his mild-tempered _wife_ had turned against him.

Eliza turned towards him when she heard him call her name. Her face was so full of hatred that it might as well have been a stranger's face. He had not know that Eliza was capable of such anger. "Goodbye, James!" she shouted as she severed the rope around Turner's neck with one expert flick of her sword. Her sword? Since when did Eliza know how to use a sword?

"Milord!" cried Mercer, who seemed to be at a complete loss. "What should we do? Which Turner do we go after?"

Before James could reply, another voice rang out above the din of the crowd. It sounded familiar, as it should, because James often used it himself. "Seize the imposter!" All eyes turned to the man who had given that command.

It wasn't often that James Sparrow lost his power of speech, but this was one of those moments. Jack Sparrow. It was himself as he should not have been. He had thought that the man had died the day he had decided to become James Sparrow. Apparently, he hadn't killed that young man well enough, for he had become...this. His other self grinned at him. That cocky face was so full of confidence that the Sparrow immediately wanted to punch it. The feeling was so odd. It was as if he was watching himself from outside his body. The other Sparrow winked at him, and then he was gone in an instant, but the damage had been done.

* * *

Elizabeth concentrated on her sword and her enemies' bayonets and tried not to think about how heavy Will was. At any rate, he would never be too heavy for her. He smelled of sweat and blood and human filth, and it was difficult to fight whilst supporting him, but she would sooner die than complain.

"Elizabeth!" Gimli was hacking his way towards her, looking very much like an old Norse god of battle. His axes whirled with such speed that they looked more like silver blurs from where she was standing. Those who had made the mistake of underestimating him because of his short stature soon learned to regret their oversight. Bayonets were no match for dwarven axes. They cut through the barrels of guns and sent men scrambling out of the way. Within moments, Gimli had reached the Pirate King. "Here, lass," he said gruffly. "I've got him."

"Thank you," breathed Elizabeth as she transferred half of Will's weight off her shoulders, trying her best not to cause him any more pain. Still, he grimaced, although he did not complain.

"Give me a sword," he said. "I can still—"

"No, William Turner," said Elizabeth and Gimli at the same time.

"I'm not falling for that one again," added the dwarf. "It's been used on me too many times by too many men."

"I'll only hinder you otherwise!"

"You've always been a hindrance, but we've not complained and we're not going to start now," said Gimli as he lashed out with his axe at a redcoat who had dared to venture too close. The blade sliced through the young soldier's leg, severing it just below the knee. The young man toppled over, screaming in pain as he clutched at the stump. Blood spurted out in time to his heartbeat, and the white of bone glistened amidst the red of ruined flesh. For a moment, Elizabeth caught sight of the look in his eyes, and she felt a pang of pity as well as guilt. He was innocent; simply a boy —not much older than her own son— who was doing what he was told. It was not fair that he should have to pay for James Sparrow's crimes.

Redcoats were fighting Redcoats, unsure of which Sparrow they ought to be obeying. It was like a storm, except a storm had more order. Men heaved like waves during a hurricane, pushing, shoving, all trying to stay afloat and most failing. In this chaos, the pirates were mostly forgotten. Well, pirates who were not Jack Sparrow.

* * *

Achilles was in the centre of the commotion, having been the one who had blown up the armoury. In truth, he had not known that the explosion would have been so huge. Jack had neglected to tell him that there had been gunpowder in there. Soot darkened his skin and his clothing. That soon mingled with the blood of his enemies. He wielded not one, but two swords. Quality mattered, but so did quantity. Of course, quality might have mattered more, seeing as the Redcoats were no match for him, and there were a great many of them. However, his main objective was not to kill English soldiers. Briseis would never forgive him if anything happened to her hopeless cousin. At the moment, the former prince of Troy was floundering in the sea of men, struggling to wield a sword like a Turner, but not succeeding. If it hadn't been such a dangerous situation, Achilles would have laughed. However, since there was a real danger of Paris getting himself killed —which genius decided to let him pretend to be William Turner anyway?— he didn't bother wasting any time on fancy tricks.

"It took you long enough!" hollered Paris.

"Some people had more to do than to pretend to be William Turner," said Achilles as disarmed the soldier who had been about to run Paris through. "Come on. Your cousin would not like it if something happened to you."

"And you wouldn't like to face her wrath, would you?"

They made an unbalanced pair, but they were a force to reckon with, nonetheless. What Paris lacked in swordsmanship, he almost made up for in skill with the pistol. Most of his shots ended up where he had intended them to end up, although some of them inevitably missed. He was, after all, a man and not an elf. Of course, Achilles would never tell Paris that he was good at something.

The noise was deafening. The voices of all the soldiers, the pirates and the spectators had merged into one thundering roar of several tones. Achilles could hardly hear himself think. Then again, he didn't like to think when he was killing others. He didn't want to feel the pain of their loss. These were necessary sacrifices. It might have seemed ridiculous, so many lives in exchange for one, but Will was his friend, and the life of another of his friends depended upon their success in this world.

* * *

So far, so good. Everything was going according to plan. The shock factor had been severe enough that no one who wasn't in on the plan had the slightest clue as to what was going on. Jack was quite proud of himself. When it came to sneakiness, he was still the best. James Sparrow simply didn't have the experience or the training. Sure, he might be pretty good at manipulating politicians, but real life wasn't like Parliament. Well, it wasn't supposed to be.

Now that he'd created chaos, it was time for him to go. Jack didn't like staying around for the endings, which were usually anti-climactic. He ducked behind a cart, put on his false beard, and slipped away through the streets.

* * *

Broken bodies were dragged away to be buried in mass graves without even the dignity of a proper funeral. James Sparrow did not much care for the dignity of others. No; he was much more worried about his own. The bloodstains on the cobblestones were washed away with buckets of sea water. The cart, which should have been used to transport Turner's body to the gibbets, instead, was filled with the shoes of the soldiers who had died. There would be some use for them. Shoes were not cheap commodities.

"How many dead?" he asked Mercer.

"Thirty, at least, and still counting," said the man. "We need to put up notices to tell all the colonies about these men."

"Rest assured, Mister Mercer, that I have absolutely _no _intention of pasting my own face all over these notices about fugitives," said Sparrow. His voice practically dripped with disdain. Why did his men have to be so...simple? "Honestly, Mercer. These are no ordinary pirates. Something very odd is afoot here. I intend to find out what it is exactly."

* * *

The captain's cabin was extremely crowded. There was hardly room for all of them to stand, let alone sit. In fact, only the real captain got a seat. "There's no turning back," said Norrington. The man was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. His expression was grim. "Sparrow will really be coming after us in earnest now."

In contrast, Jack was very cheerful, although no one really knew why. After all, they were being hunted by what seemed like the entire royal navy. Any sensible man would know that there was nothing to be cheerful about. However, Jack was not really a sensible man at all, and he saw things that the regular man could not see. "That is exactly what we want, gentlemen," he said.

"No, it isn't," said Norrington. He looked at the other man as if he were mad. Actually, many wondered if Jack was really mad or whether he only pretended to be mad.

"Yes, it is," said Jack. "Think about it. We want his map. He carries it on his person. When he comes to find us, he will deliver the map to us. Savvy?"

"Just one very simple question," said Paris. "How are we going to make sure that he doesn't get us after we get his map?"

"We'll worry about that when we get to it," said Jack, waving his hand dismissively at the former prince's direction. "I'll figure out something."

"Why does that not comfort me?" asked William.

"Ah, my dear William," said Jack, not at all daunted by his companions' lack of faith in him. He was used to scepticism and he could deal with it very well. After all, he succeeded every time in the end, didn't he? "You have yet to truly witness the brilliance of Captain Jack Sparrow. You'll know better once you've seen me in action."

"I have seen you in action," said William. "And it was just pure luck that all of us managed to get away. I swear, back in Port Saint James, I thought I would be apprehended any moment."

"Luck's good," said Jack. "We always seem to have plenty of it. It's a bit illogical, really, but I ain't questionin' it. You shouldn't either."

"Have you ever considered what would happen if your luck did run out?" asked Legolas mildly. The stain on his skin had worn off, so he now looked as if he was ill with some sort of disease that made his skin look patchy. His hair, hacked off irregularly, was still darkened by boot polish and looking incredibly greasy. Jack thought he had never seen the elf look so...common, not even right after he'd been shot by that poisoned arrow. Oh, if only he could somehow capture this moment and then show everyone once they got back to Minas Tirith. Legolas would never hear the end of it!

"I never think about what I don't want to think about," said Jack. It wasn't particularly true, but when had he ever bothered about whole truths? He had a reputation to uphold, a mask that he presented to everyone, even those who were closest to him. He had let down his mask once, a very long time ago, and he had paid dearly for it. That had been a hard-learned lesson, even harder than when Barbossa had mutinied against him. He was not going to make _that_ mistake again. A man was safest when he had some secrets that he kept all to himself. "Now, with Sparrow sailin' after us, he enters unfamiliar waters, which makes him more vulnerable. He doesn't know all the places to hide and find food. We do. That gives us an advantage."

"He still has numbers," argued Norrington. "I would not risk my men's lives by basing my tactics on your luck, Captain Sparrow."

"When has numbers ever stopped any of us?" asked Jack. "Well, maybe apart from you."

* * *

**A/N: **It's a little short, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. I have midterms coming up soon, so my time is divided.


	14. Trail of Breadcrumbs

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize; I'm just borrowing them with the intention of returning them sometime in the future. **

**Smithy: **Really? I'm a big fan of angst/hurt stories about my favourite characters. Don't worry. Will might not get his loving now, but he's going to get it sometime soon. He and Elizabeth are the most prominent couple in this series, after all.

**Chapter 14: Trail of Breadcrumbs**

Will flinched as warm water touched open wounds. "I'm sorry," said Elizabeth as she carefully dabbed away the dried blood.

"Don't be," said Will. He reached out to tuck a strand of his wife's hair behind her ear. He had never seen anything as beautiful as her, and he doubted he ever would. Even after all these years, his fascination for her had not faded. "You came for me. If not for you, I would be swinging from a gibbet for the sport of the gulls."

"Don't say that, please," whispered Elizabeth. She dropped the cloth she had been using to clean his wounds and caught his hand in both of hers, stroking the hard calluses and the ridges formed by years of labour.

"If anyone is to be sorry, then it ought to be our dear friends Lord Sparrow and Mr. Mercer," continued Will.

"I promise you, they will be very sorry they ever met us," said Elizabeth. Anna Maria had provided with a few ointments and salves that the one physician on Harbour Island had made up. Apparently, the men needed quite a bit of tending from time to time, not that such information was surprising, considering the sort of 'occupations' they had. She applied the salves to Will's wounds gently, taking care not to cause him more pain. His ribs had been bound with lengths of linen. The physician had said that there were a few fractures, but nothing too serious. Will simply would not be able to lift his arms high for a couple of weeks.

When Elizabeth came to the burn on Will's wrist, she paused. "I know," said Will with a wry smile. "I'm really a pirate now, I guess. Jack will be so proud. I wonder what the king would think? All of his naval officers happen to be outlaws."

"Why will I be proud?" came a voice from the doorway, effectively ruining what romantic ambiance there had been.

"Jack, have you ever heard of the concept of knocking?" asked Elizabeth irritably as she almost dropped a jar of ointment.

"Heard of it," said the pirate. He scratched his chin. "Never really was that keen in executin' it, though. So, tell me, Whelp. Why should I be proud? Oh, that brand, right? Nah. Only bad pirates get branded. Me, I wasn't bad at what I did. I was betrayed; there's a difference."

Elizabeth lobbed a roll of bandages at Jack's head.

* * *

Jonathan Beckett suddenly found himself in a very important position as James Sparrow's advisor. He had no official rank or title, of course, but he was now treated with deference by everyone in Port Saint James. In a perverse way, he had to thank Jack Sparrow, Will Turner, and the rest of their cohorts, for without them, he would not be here, sipping tea from a fine china cup and telling James Sparrow everything he knew about those pirates. Granted, all his information was second-hand, for it had come from his much more knowledgeable older brother, but it was the best Sparrow could get at the moment.

"So...that was not Eliza," said Sparrow. Was that relief? Who would have thought that James Sparrow would have been afraid of the prospect of facing his own wife?

"Most likely not," said Beckett. He stirred his tea. There wasn't enough sugar. He liked a lot of sugar. Without waiting for an invitation, he dropped another cube into the light brown liquid. Sparrow made no comment. "That was probably Elizabeth Swann-Turner, wife of Will Turner, whom you almost executed, milord."

"Eliza married _Turner_?" There was unmistakeable disgust in Sparrow's voice.

"In my world, yes," said Beckett. "I think it was a horrid miscalculation on her part, and her father's, of course, for letting her go through with it. She could have been Lady Beckett, or Mrs. Commodore Norrington. However, she chose to marry a penniless blacksmith. I never understood the point of romance in a marriage. Love cannot put food on the table."

"Yes, yes," said Sparrow impatiently. "Enough about that. I don't want to know of your opinions about Turner and Eliza's twisted romance. I want to know about this Jack Sparrow. _What_ is he?"

"To put it very simply, milord," said Beckett, "he's a pirate. The very worst sort."

"He pillages and plunders and rapes and burns?" said Sparrow.

"Oh no," said Beckett. "That's the regular sort of pirate. Jack is much worse than that."

"What sort is he, then?"

"Jack is the sort who never gets caught. And if he does get caught, he always gets out. Never mind that he's dead. Or used to be."

"He _used_ to be dead?" The look on Sparrow's face was priceless. Beckett would have laughed out loud if that had not been a dangerous thing to do.

"He was eaten by the Kraken, and Turner and the others somehow got him back," said Beckett. "I don't know the particulars of that little incident. What I do know is that there was a map that allowed them to do such a thing, and I believe it was that same map that led them to this world."

"Should I even believe in the existences of other worlds?" said Sparrow. He drummed his fingers against the armrest of his ornate chair. His brow was creased in thought.

"Before this, I did not believe in the existence of alternate realities," said Beckett. "My arrival here, however, has forced me to change my views. In the end, it does not matter what you believe, milord. That map holds the key to the Fountain of Youth."

"And Turner has the sextant," whispered James.

"They obviously know that you know of the Fountain," said Beckett. "Otherwise, they would not have ransacked your study."

"Very true, Mr. Beckett. Now, if you would be so _helpful_ as to tell me something that I do not know, such as the location of this pirate lair."

"I do not know the exact location, milord, but if I were you, I would interrogate every outlaw I got my hands on until someone gives me the right information. Is Tortuga still a pirate settlement?"

* * *

William's office was filled with bustling activity as all the trusted literate people on the island —which, admittedly, did not amount to a great number— sat there shuffling through all the papers that Jack had gathered. Some were medieval manuscripts; those immediately went to Balian, even though his medieval Latin was just passable. The ancient Greek texts went to Paris. "Jack, these are completely useless," said Will. Being wounded, he got the narrow loveseat. Paper was scattered all around him. He held up a sheet and squinted at it. "These are astronomical charts, I think. Very standard, apart from a few notes which I cannot make out."

"Oh, give it to me," said Jack, reaching over to snatch it out of his friend's hand —quite some feat, since there was hardly enough room in William's study for them to move. However, since this was an operation of utmost secrecy, it wasn't safe to take all this information to somewhere else where there would be more room. "It's me handwritin', after all."

"You know, I wonder why you don't let Eliza Sparrow come and help us," said Balian mildly.

"Eliza Sparrow?" said Elizabeth. "Oh, please, Balian. I know you feel protective, as you do with everyone who seems helpless, but she cannot be trusted. She's Sparrow's wife!"

"Aye, and she doesn't like him much," said Jack. "Heh, maybe I'll ask her a few things tonight. If I find her trustworthy—"

"I don't trust your judgement, Jack," said Elizabeth. "You did hire a mutinous crew, after all. No offence, Captain Barbossa."

Barbossa tipped his hat at Elizabeth. "I be agreein' with ye, Missus Turner," he said. "Jack's judgement cannot be trusted. However, I be thinkin' that she will help us, seein' as she will not be gainin' anythin' by turnin' against us."

"And she still has feelings for young William here," said Jack, not to be outdone.

William coughed and looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. Jack, however, was either unaware or unconcerned. After all, he was not known for being tactful in social situations. In fact, one could say that he delighted in being untactful and making others feel awkward.

"The fact remains," said Legolas, who seemed eager to steer the conversation back to the original point, "that she is unable to get off the island, even if she did have the inclination to betray us, and I do not think she does. Ergo, it would be safe to recruit her to help us sort out this mess." He indicated the paper scattered around them. Most of them were astronomical or astrological charts. There were also a few maps, both old and new, some rare books and many documents written by James Sparrow himself. "Besides, she can probably give us an insight into Sparrow's mind."

"I doubt it," said Elizabeth. "If he wasn't fond of her, then he wouldn't have shared much with her."

"Ah, but she's probably also curious," said Jack, "and she don't seem like the stupid type to me. Well, no more stupid than you, Lizzie."

"Are you calling me stupid?" said Elizabeth dangerously. Will almost choked, whether it was in laughter or in shock, one could not tell. He did, however, have the strangest expression on his face as he watched the proceedings. Of course, it was also possible that he was trying to deal with the pain, even if he had been fed something to make it more bearable.

"Stop puttin' words in me mouth," said Jack, who did not seem to care that he was in a very dangerous situation at the moment. "I just said Eliza's no stupider than you. As to your intelligence, I never gave an indication as to whether I thought you had enough or not, savvy?"

"I think I found a pattern," said Paris suddenly, breaking the tension that was growing in the room. "Most of these texts mention Atlantis at one point or another. I find it awfully odd, as Atlantis is merely a myth."

"So says the man who comes from Troy," said Norrington. "What does it say about Atlantis?"

"Possible locations, what sort of civilization it might have had...just the usual stories, really," said the Trojan prince. "I remember hearing them in passing and dismissing them when I was a boy."

"Do you think the Fountain of Youth has anything to do with Atlantis?" said Will.

"By that, do you mean the fact that they are both mythical and non-existent?" said Norrington.

"Ah, but wot if there is some truth behind the myth of Atlantis?" suggested Jack. The pirate's eyes were gleaming the way they usually did when he was certain that he had a brilliant idea. "Jus' because no one's ever found it doesn't mean it don't exist."

"But you have to admit that this is more outlandish than our usual fare," said Balian. "What next? Perhaps we will have to battle a hydra?"

"Hopefully whatever divinity in the area ignored your suggestion," said Jack, "but think about it. If we can meet our other selves, why would it be impossible to find Atlantis?" He winked. "Now, back on topic. I say we get Lady Sparrow and ask her a couple o' discreet questions."

* * *

Eliza found Harbour Island to be rather quaint in a pleasant way. Apart from Elizabeth, few people treated her with open hostility. She had been given a simply furnished room with one bed, a wash stand and a chest of drawers, not that she had anything to put in them, having left in such a hurry. The pirate woman who was always accompanying William, Anna Maria, had found her some spare clothing. It was not the clothing befitting a woman of her status, but she found that she didn't mind the plainness. They were comfortable, if a bit big, and there was no need to wear a corset. As long as they covered her up respectfully, she was not going to complain.

The men had been quite attentive too, always asking her if she needed anything. She supposed that she was a bit of a novelty; the island hardly seemed like a place that would be frequented by properly brought up highborn ladies. So far, she had not seen much of William, but she put that down to him being rather occupied with God knew what. She had thought about asking one of the men about what was going on inside that study, but thought better of it. It was none of her business, unless they chose to tell her, which was also unlikely.

Therefore, she was rather surprised when she answered a knock on her door to find William standing there with Norrington behind him, both looking suitably uncomfortable. "Captain Turner," she said, bowing to him as she would to any other gentleman. Here, he was the governor, almost a king. It was only right. "What a pleasant surprise."

William hastily returned the bow, albeit a bit clumsily. "Miss Eliza," he said. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing me a favour. I mean, us..." He trailed off, unsure of how to proceed.

"If it is within my power, then I suppose there is no reason to refuse," said Eliza.

"We need you to answer a few questions about your husband, madam," said Norrington. "That is, if it is no trouble."

"That would depend on what sort of questions you intend to ask," said Eliza, feeling her face growing hot. Her imagination was running rampant. What could they possibly want to know?

"Uh...that would depend on Captain Sparrow's mood," said William. Oh, Lord! Jack Sparrow? Eliza felt the urge to slam the door and barricade it, but she was a guest here and it simply would not do.

"I shall endeavour to answer those questions which I am able to answer," said Elizabeth, "but if Captain Sparrow insists on asking inappropriate questions, then forgive me, but I am afraid I will not be of much help."

"We shall keep that in mind and we will take no offense," said Norrington before his captain could reply.

* * *

Jack had to remind himself to stay on topic. This was about James Sparrow's obsession with star charts and Atlantis. It was so easy to stray off-topic. For years, he had relied on this technique to get what he wanted out of others. They mistook his tendency to go off on tangents for a lack of intelligence, which gave him an advantage when it came to dealing with enemies. However, this was not one of those moments when he needed others to undermine his intelligence.

"Yes," Eliza was saying. "James did spend a lot of time looking at the stars. He had a telescope in the bedroom and whenever he was there with me, he was more often than not peering through that telescope and murmuring to himself. He had a map —more like a scrap of map, really— and he would consult it all the time."

"Obviously he was looking for something," said William in a low voice.

"Yes, I suspected too," said Eliza. "But I never knew what it was that he was looking for."

"Did you overhear anything?" asked Paris. "Perhaps a word that sounded odd, a phrase, a name?"

Eliza looked embarrassed for a moment. She hesitated. "I...I once went to his study when he wasn't home," she admitted. Barbossa grinned and tipped his hat at Elizabeth, who raised her eyebrow. It wasn't something they had expected that Eliza Sparrow would have done. Perhaps she had more in common with Elizabeth than they had first thought. "There was a sheet of paper, and there was a very odd phrase on it. '_The stargazer's heart's desire lies upon the surface, illuminating the way_.' I thought he was trying to compose poetry."

Jack exchanged glances with Will. Out of everyone in the room, Will knew him best —even if Will did not know him very well at all. However, it wasn't so hard to decipher the first part of that little phrase. It obviously referred to the sextant and the compass. However, the second part...that was a bit cryptic. "The surface of what?" asked Will.

"It's supposed to make sense?" asked Eliza. For a moment, the expression on her face was so similar to the one that Elizabeth usually used when Jack did something that was more incomprehensible than usual that Jack almost spat out his mouthful of rum. Two Elizabeths to give him that criticizing look instead of just one; now _that_ was disturbing.

"I be thinkin' she be deservin' to know the truth," said Barbossa. "Well, a filtered version, I be supposin'."

"Is a filtered truth any better than a lie?" asked Eliza.

* * *

Eliza quickly changed her mind. No, she was not in the company of mere pirates; she was in the company of mad pirates. She might have begun to doubt their sanity when they had kidnapped her for seemingly no reason other than the fact they had thought she had needed rescuing, but now her belief in their insanity was confirmed. They believed in the existence of a fountain that could grant eternal life, and not just spiritually. She told them what she thought. Well, more like blurted it out before she could think about what she was saying.

"Believe what you like," Elizabeth had retorted. "The truth is the truth no matter what you believe."

"I thought you didn't believe in it, Lizzie," said Jack. Was it just her, or did Jack Sparrow enjoy riling Elizabeth Swann-Turner? No, it probably wasn't just her. The old pirate called Barbossa was smirking and he seemed to be making a bet with the tall brawny Greek standing to his left. It was almost as if they were so accustomed to this sort of behaviour that no one found it to be particularly alarming or odd anymore. Not even Elizabeth's husband made any move to interfere. Elizabeth gave Jack a withering glare.

"I didn't, Jack," she said. "Now I do. Not because your arguments were particularly convincing, mind you, but because there seems to be enough circumstantial evidence."

"Hah! I convinced you. Just admit it!"

"You've never convinced me before, so I don't see why this time should be any different."

"There's always a first for everythin'."

The discussion might have gone on if Elizabeth had wished to continue with it, but she simply rolled her eyes and then turned her attention back to everyone else. "We're still no closer to discovering the Fountain's location than we were before," she said.

"We need Sparrow's map, and I doubt he'd give it to us willingly," said Norrington.

"Which is why it's great that he's hunting us," said Jack. He looked much too cheerful as he delivered that little piece of information. "Better to have him come to us than to have to find 'im, that's what I say."

"As much sense as that makes," said William wryly, "I would rather they did _not_ find this island."

"Who said he had to find the island?" said Jack. "Honestly, I don't understand how you survived for so long if you're this...naive. We're pirates, savvy, and pirates belong out at sea. So long as he thinks we have the sextant and the compass, he's goin' to come after us."

* * *

As it turned out, James Sparrow got a head start on them. The very next morning, they received news that Tortuga had been sacked by the royal navy. Many had been captured and only a few managed to escape. Some, who knew William and had no place else to go, had sailed to Harbour Island, bringing the news. Amongst them was an old sailor called Pete Cotton. Indeed, even Cotton had another self, only this one was probably the opposite of a mute. "I didnae ken why they came," the old man said after he had calmed down sufficiently to stop blabbering non-stop at such a high speed that no one could make out any of the syllables. "Why now? Tortuga's always been 'ere and they ne'er minded us 'til now! They jes' took 'em, the men, the women, the little ones too! Loaded them onto ships by the load, they were!"

"What would Sparrow want with all those people?" asked William.

"Ne'er bothered to find out, Cap'n," said Cotton. "When I 'eard that cannon fire I ran fer me boat as quick as I could and didnae look back. 'twas only after that I found out it was Sparra's doin'! He was flyin' him flag fer all t' see!" The old man had no more to tell them, for he was clearly not the brightest fellow around and he was rather traumatized. He was taken away to the kitchens to be fed a calming brew, leaving the young captain alone with those he trusted the most. He looked at each and every one of them.

"Well?" he said. "Why would Sparrow do that? Why attack Tortuga? It's harmless!"

"We all know that Sparrow has a penchant for persecution and destruction," said Norrington. His eyes were hard and he was gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Yes, but he's not a madman," said William. "In all my years of dealing with him, not once has he made a decision that was so irrational. Why start now?"

"Maybe Sparra be drivin' the other Sparra over the edge," said Barbossa with a smirk.

"I'll take that as a compliment, thank you very much," said Jack.

"Why take all those people?" asked Balian. "If he wanted to eradicate all pirates, then he would kill them. Why waste food and water and space?"

"I don't understand it either," said Norrington. "But then, I don't claim to understand men like Sparrow." A murmur of assent swept through the gathered men and women. Only Jack remained silent at this moment, although he looked like he had something insightful to say. Will, however, knew that such a look did not always mean a promising result. What Jack thought of as being insightful was sometimes vastly different from the average man's definition. The pirate scratched his wrist and then crossed his arms and leaned on one of the bookshelves in William's increasingly cramped study. Every usable space seemed to have been taken up by paper.

"Say, William, you happen to be rather infamous, right?" he said suddenly.

"The Cap'n is famous, not infamous," said Anna Maria.

"Right, right. It depends on your perspective, but that's beside the point. The point is that if Cotton knows the location of Harbour Island, then chances are that _other_ people might know of the location as well, right?"

"It is possible—" began William, and then the blood drained from his face. "Oh God...I've doomed us all!"

"You?" said Jack, making a face. "Wot's it got to do with you? Stop bein' so egotistical. Not everythin' is your fault, savvy? Now, we don't need to evacuate the whole island; we can't. But we can lure Sparra —the other one— away, savvy?"

"How?" asked Barbossa. "Ye know as well as any of us that Sparra be aimin' to destroy us once an' fer all."

"That's exactly the point!" cried Jack. When no one seemed to understand him, he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sometimes, I've no idea what a genius like me is doing with a bunch of people like you. Look, he wants _us_. The rest, he could care less about. We just need some bait and a trail of breadcrumbs. That always works a treat."

"What are we using for crumbs?" asked Will. "You're not planning on dumping dead bodies in the ocean again, are you?

"Oh, Whelp, have you learned nuthin' from all those years you've been friends wiv me? I'm disappointed that you would take me for such an unoriginal man!"

* * *

**A/N: **I know this isn't my usual chapter length, but I must stop here as I have choir practise tomorrow morning. Originally I had more, but then I decided that what I had written was not suitable for this chapter so I cut it out. I hope you enjoyed it anyway.


	15. The Number Three

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize; it all belongs to someone else. I'm just borrowing them without permission and with every intention of returning them...sometime.

**Chapter 15: The Number Three**

Jack enjoyed seeing the looks on his companions' faces. It amused him to no end that he could always surprise them. He took pride in his skill to shock them; after all, these were people who had seen almost everything worth seeing. "Sightings?" said William. "That's all you're going to give Sparrow?"

"Well, if he were anythin' like me, that's to say persistent and determined, then he'd follow the faintest scent, metaphorically speakin'," said Jack. "'Sides, you got any better ideas, because if you do, please, do share." He gave William his most brilliant grin, all the while knowing that the others could not possibly think of safer 'breadcrumbs'.

"Men have chased after less," said Balian with a grimace.

"They're like dogs with a bone," said Elizabeth. "Now, women, on the other hand..." The gentlemen all started protesting at once, saying that one man could not represent all men, whilst the rogues started justifying _why_ they behaved the way they did at the prospect of getting rich. Jack knew that Elizabeth was merely baiting them. She liked to do that sometimes, and Jack didn't mind entertaining her; he liked a good rant as much as anyone else. Well, actually, he seemed to be the only one who understood the therapeutic benefits of ranting about nothing of much importance. The others were usually too serious about their debates to truly enjoy the experience. Not Jack Sparrow; life was too short to be serious, even if one had the ability to find immortal life. Who knew when it could be just taken away? He might as well enjoy what time he while he could, and at the same time, find a way to increase his chances for good times.

"Gentlemen!" William's voice put a halt to everything. The young pirate captain was indeed the sort of man who would never let anything distract him from what needed doing. Jack had to give him credit; it was difficult to find a man who knew what his priorities were. "Learn some focus. We have a Sparrow to deal with."

The voices gradually died down. An uncomfortable silence followed as they each pondered the chances of success. Jack thought they had a pretty good chance. After all, if he hadn't decided not to do things differently, there had been every chance in the world that he would have become the very man he was fighting right now.

* * *

Broiling clouds, like mountains in the sky, seemed to be a forewarnings of the turbulence to come. Waves lashed against the sides of the ship as it cut through the sea. They'd already sailed to several islands —remote ones, of course, which would take Sparrow a day or two to reach— and made a big show of restocking. By now, at least half the Caribbean would have found out about where they were going. Or, at least, where Jack said they were going. Whether there was any truth to that claim, very few knew.

Legolas stood at the rails, staring into the distance, willing himself to see something that was beyond the sight of mortal men. The sea spray dampened his clothes. His shortened hair was tied back at the nape of his neck so that the wind could no longer whip it about his head. He licked the salt from his lips. He was nervous, he had to admit. There were so many questions plaguing him and not one single answer had been found. Actually, he wasn't sure what he dreaded more; not finding out the answers or discovering answers which he did not like. What if the Fountain could not cure his ailment? What if it did not exist, despite all these claims? Would he still want to know, or would he prefer to remain in the dark, clinging onto a foolish hope that he would one day be restored to his former abilities and glories? He didn't know. He wasn't used to not knowing.

"Dratted sea air," muttered Gimli as the dwarf came to stand beside him. He was barely tall enough to look over the rails, something which further incurred his ire. He hadn't been fond of the sea in the first place. "At this rate, my armour will be nothing more than a pile of rust and the slightest poke would make it disintegrate."

"That severe?" asked Legolas absently. His mind was not in it. Normally, he would tease his friend about wearing chainmail whilst sailing in open waters, where he was more likely to die of drowning than of a stray enemy arrow, but he had not been in good spirits of late, for obvious reasons. If not for his friends, he didn't know if he could have survived. To live without the senses that he had been born with and had lived with for almost three millennia was a living death.

"Might as well be," said Gimli. "You know how much polishing I'll need to do? I might as well get myself a new mail shirt."

"Or you could simply go without chainmail. It won't kill you."

"So says the princeling who—" Gimli cut himself off in midsentence as Legolas flinched at being reminded of that day. "Forgive me, Legolas. I let my tongue get the better of me."

"I suppose I ought to learn to live with it," said Legolas. The elf did not tear his gaze away from the distant horizon. The sky continued to darken and the wind strengthened. A storm was approaching. "Sometimes, I envy mortal men. They are so adaptable, and from that adaptability comes resilience. They can survive almost any change. We elves, we do not like change. I suppose it reminds us that we will forever remain the same way while the world we love turns into something else completely alien. I wish I could be adaptable like men."

"You're not that stiff and unchanging, lad," said Gimli. "In fact, I find you to be quite adaptable, for a condescending elvish princeling."

"How many condescending elvish princelings do you know?" asked Legolas, finally cracking a small smile. "I was under the impression that I am the only one who exists in Middle Earth, although, technically, I am not existing in Middle Earth at the moment."

"Don't put yourself on a pedestal," said the dwarf with a mock scowl. "You can't be that unique. You have brothers, don't you?"

"Yes, but I am the youngest, which means I am the spoiled, headstrong and condescending one," said Legolas. "I suppose that is why my father hardly ever gave me positions of great responsibility, I suppose. He knew I would ill suit them, for they would entail hours of paperwork and administration, which I am not at all fond of. I am too brash, and too likely to offend sensitive administrators."

"Perhaps your father does have some wisdom, despite having imprisoned mine," said Gimli. "Mahal knows how many times you've insulted me. I merely have a very high tolerance for your insolence."

"Indeed, friend Gimli. Not many possess the patience you do," said the elf with a laugh. Then he became more serious. "No matter what happens, I am glad to have you here with me. And all of the others too."

"I didn't have much choice, seeing as you needed someone with a sensible head to come along with you," said Gimli gruffly. Lightning flashed above them, making the two look up. It was followed by the rumble of distant thunder. Powdery rain started floating down, coating them in a fine mist of water droplets. Gimli scowled at the sky. "At least it's not a downpour—" He had barely finished that last syllable when lightning snaked across the sky again, right above them. The clash of thunder was so loud that Legolas wondered for a moment if he were standing next to a cannon that was being fired. Perhaps that was the sound of the dome of the sky cracking, for a torrent of water fell on them, drenching them in moments. Behind them, men were shouting to one another. Jack, Barbossa and William were all giving orders at once whilst the crew scurried about to obey them. "I shall just keep my mouth shut now, shall I?" shouted Gimli over the storm.

* * *

Beckett had advised him to be cautious, but James was not really in the mood for caution. He had not gotten to where he was now without taking risks. He was also a firm believer of the idea that revenge tasted best when hot. His many captives had told him where the other Sparrow was headed, under the threat of torture. Pirates were pirates; they would always look to their own welfare first. Turner, and the other Turner, were the only ones he'd encountered who knew how to think of others. As for Jack Sparrow, he still didn't know what to make of him. Beckett said that he was a dangerous man, and the only thing one could expect him to do was to do something unexpected; that piece of advice was suitably vague and less than unhelpful.

He tried to concentrate on the map, not _the_ map, but simply a map of the world which he knew like the back of his hand. Or so he had once thought. Jack Sparrow seemed to be following a senseless and erratic path, with no set direction. Surely, if one wanted to go somewhere, one would try, to the greatest extent possible, to go by the shortest path and not make huge loops around archipelagos and doubling back at a slightly different angle. There was no logic to it, no pattern. Perhaps it was meant to mean something, but whatever meaning that Jack Sparrow's path had, it was lost on James.

"Beckett!" he barked. Beckett was at his side in an instant. That man knew how to be a good lapdog. Whilst Mercer was the guard dog, Beckett was the obedient little poodle who always knew what his master wanted and who, of course, was intelligent enough to benefit from it. "What do you make of this?"

Beckett stared at the lines on the map that represented Jack Sparrow's path. He narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized it, as if trying to read something that no one else could see. Wait...could Jack Sparrow have left a message for Beckett? Were they in league with one another, after all? If there was one thing James knew better than anything else, it was that one could not trust an intelligent man. Then again, Beckett was not _that_ intelligent.

"I don't know," said Beckett at last. "Although, it brings to mind the path of the fleeing hare. It will not run in a straight line. Perhaps this is what Jack is doing."

Outside, a flurry of shouts suddenly sounded. The men had seen something. Without waiting for one of them to come down and tell him what it was, as he usually did, James stormed up the steps and almost crashed through the door as he burst onto the deck. In the near distance, clouds swirled in the sky, veiling the light of the stars. They could hear the rumble of thunder, like the growling of a long dormant beast that had just awakened and was seeking to assuage its hunger. Flashes of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating the contours of the clouds. They formed a spiral, all gathered around one dark eye. It was as if someone up there was watching.

None of that interested James. He cared not for storms at sea, for they were far enough from it to be safe, and he wasn't a man who knew how to appreciate the brutal beauty of nature. To him, everything existed to serve him. If they didn't exist to serve him, then they really ought not to exist at all. No; what really interested him was that tiny speck on the ocean's turbulent surface. The ship looked like nothing more than a toy as it was pushed and pulled by the winds of the gathering storm. Beckett had neglected to say that Jack Sparrow was an excellent sailor.

"Sir," said Mercer, coming up behind him. "Should we halt the pursuit?"

"If you think, Mr. Mercer, that a storm that has not yet broken is going to stop me, then I do wonder why I leave your head on your shoulders," said Sparrow. "It does not seem to be doing you much good. If Jack Sparrow can sail through that, then why can't I?" He gave the former mercenary a disdainful sideways glance. Oh, why did he keep such dull company? What wouldn't he give for a bit of wit, even if it meant he had to be on his guard all the time? Besides, an intelligent subordinate would know that serving James' interests meant serving his own interests.

The _Mercenary_ sailed into the encroaching shadow of the storm. Rain pelted down on them, almost like enemy gunfire. The stinging cold droplets made it almost impossible to see, but nonetheless, James kept his spyglass fixed on Turner's ship. In actuality, he couldn't give damn about the pirate colony. Sheep would scatter without their shepherd, and the pirates would disband without their captain. If he won this battle —and it looked as if he would— he would win the whole war.

The sails were full, billowing out like white clouds. At times, he even wondered if the ribs of the sail would break under the strain, or whether the mast would snap in half. But mast and the sails held, as if the ship herself knew how important that was.

Immortality; that was worth dying for.

* * *

"Can't this thing go any faster?" Jack hollered over the howl of the wind. He'd just poked his head out of the hatch that led below deck. Within seconds, his hat felt like it was in need of a drain.

"Well, I apologize for letting my flagship get blown to pieces!" William shouted back as he struggled to hold the wheel still. The last thing he needed was for the ship to go in circles. That would not be helpful at all. The young man might have known Jack for only a couple of weeks, but he was beginning to learn. There was certainly a darkly humorous tone in his speech that had not been there before. He was surprising himself lately. He hadn't known he'd had it in him to make jokes during the direst of situations. It was a little worrying, actually. This was really not an occasion for jesting.

"Should I be the one apologizing?" called Will from his seat on a crate below deck.

"I ain't got no use fer pointless apologies!" shouted Jack. He slammed the hatch shut before the entire ship could be flooded. "Oi! Barbossa! You got anythin' off that map yet?"

"Ye be thinkin' I wouldn't tell ye if I had?" Barbossa shouted back. The old pirate was holding onto his wide-brimmed hat with one hand. The bedraggled feather looked even more miserable than usual. Water flew from its tip as it was whipped side to side by the wind. Barbossa had the bamboo map unrolled in front of him. "An' I thought you'd be the one to figure it out, seein' as ye be so witty an' all!"

"There ain't no harm in askin' fer a second opinion!" Jack retorted.

"They're catching up with us!" Norrington called out.

"That, I really didn't need to know, Norrie!" shouted Jack. He kept on poking the image of the cup on the map that marked the Fountain of Youth, wishing it would tell him something useful. Now that they had lured Sparrow away from Harbour Island, they really needed to get to the Fountain before he caught up with them, took the compass, the sextant and their map, and found the Water of Life for himself. They did not need an immortal Lord James Sparrow, thank you very much.

"This map ain't e'en accurate!" shouted Anna Maria, struggling to be heard above the high whistling of the wind and the splashing of the waves.

"It ain't accurate, luv, but it shows a lot more than any other map in the world!" said Jack. He examined

"What good would it be if it ain't accurate?"

Jack ignored Anna Maria. She wasn't nasty enough for him to care much. Now, if it were Anamaria asking the question, he would really have to answer it. He traced the outlines of the landmasses, the islands, the Latin letters and the Chinese characters, trying to make sense of what the map was trying to tell him, because he was certain that it was telling him something. Unfortunately, his knowledge of foreign languages, especially those with pictographs for writing, was severely limited. Even worse, he was the best linguist they had.

"Jack, what's that?" said Elizabeth suddenly, pointing at one island out of many. The only difference was that there were Chinese characters written in close proximity to it. "I don't think I recognize it."

"It's a spot on an inaccurate map," said Jack. "Of course, you don't remember it, Lizzie. There are plenty of islands in the Caribbean; e'en I don't know 'em all."

"Yes, but I'm quite certain that this wasn't on our maps," said Elizabeth. "Strange. I never noticed it before. What do the words say."

"What, you're askin' me?" said Jack. "Who am I supposed to ask? I don't suppose you brought your oriental crew along in that nice roomy coat of yours."

"Jack," said Will. His voice was low, but audible and very dangerous. Oh yeah; the Whelp didn't take kindly to people teasing his wife. Humourless bastard.

"Fine, fine," said Jack. "I think that's the character for 'dirt' right there."

"Earth," said Elizabeth. "Or land."

"That's what I said! Dirt! Now, Lizzie, if you think you know better than ole Jack, then you'd better take over. However, seein' as you probably don't, just let me do what I do...relatively better than everyone else, all right? Now, let's see...I think that's the character for port...I think. It's got three drops of water on the side an'—"

"Can't you hurry up, Sparra?" snapped Anamaria. "We don't need to hear your thinkin' process! I jus' want the answers! How the hell are we gonna get away this time?"

"I ain't sure about gettin' away, but I think we jus' found Harbour Island on a map of a world that ain't supposed to have Harbour Island."

* * *

Through the garbled explanation, the wind and the rain, William could make out about two words of Jack's long, rambling, rapid monologue; 'savvy' and 'mate'. To be quite honest, the way Jack kept on gesticulating told him more. The pirate was obviously excited about something, and it probably wasn't the impending gun fight. He wasn't exactly sure what the pirate wanted, however, so he did the best thing he could have in that situation. He let Jack take over the wheel. Well, actually, as soon as he relinquished control, both Jack and Barbossa took the wheel and started squabbling over it, but since they both seemed to want to go in the same direction, it ended up working. In a manner.

The storm intensified more quickly than they had predicted. Actually, no one had planned on sailing into a storm at all. One had just formed above them. Apparently, this happened to Jack and Will's company quite often. It was either whirlpools or storms, or simply being swallowed by the sea.

* * *

The clouds cleared, revealing a morning sky tinged with red. Two ships limped on, battered, but not beaten. In fact, they were only getting started. There was no going back now for either of them. It was a race for eternal life.

"Y'know," remarked Jack as he glanced back at the ship that was tailing them. "There was this woman somewhere in Europe who thought that drinkin' and bathin' in the blood o' maidens was gonna keep her young forever. You think Sparrow would try that if he doesn't get to the Fountain?"

"Don't even suggest it!" said Anamaria. She smacked him on the back of the head, eliciting a rather high-pitched protest. "I bet he hasn't tried it coz he ain't thought of it!"

"It ain't as if he's gonna hear me!" protested Jack.

"Maybe he didn't put any stock by it, because that woman clearly did not live to fulfil her dream of immortality," said Elizabeth. "You're not the only one who hears things, Jack."

"I wonder if you know how annoyin' you can be, Lizzie," said Jack. "You really do have a talent for makin' me want to shoot you."

"Oh, I take pride in it," said Elizabeth. She lifted her spyglass to her eye. "Sparrow's still gaining on us."

"Well, as long as we reach that damned triangle before he does, it's not going to matter, is it, luv?" said Jack. It turned out that whilst upon first glance, the map they had seemed to be of their own world, it was, in fact a map of this world. Those slight disparities which could not be picked out by eyes that had not seen both were now clear to most, if not all. It seemed that they had to find the trinity of trinities not once, but twice, which completely broke the whole idea of trinities...unless there was yet _another_ trinity that they had to find. He had no idea why people were so obsessed with the number three.

According to his calculations —and William's and Norrington's— they were less than a day from where the triangle ought to be. If his assumptions were correct, then they would probably be either finding immortality and a way to bargain themselves out of whatever Sparrow had in store for them, or going on yet another trip to hell.

* * *

At first he couldn't believe it. He'd thought he knew this area better than the back of his hand, or any other part of his body. He'd sailed it for half his life. Of course, he had yet to find Turner's hideout, but with all the islands in this place, it wasn't surprising. However, this? He couldn't do anything but stare as the pyramids of glistening black rock, only with three sides, rose up from the ocean. They towered above everything else; monuments from a more glorious and forgotten age. Those who had made them had intended for them to be found only by those who knew where it is. For the first time in his life, James was thankful that things had not gone according to plan. William Turner and his cohorts had led him here.

Unfortunately, William Turner and company were already sailing for the centre of the triangle. Now _that _he was definitely not thankful for. James Sparrow did not settle for being second best. "Ready the cannons!" he shouted.

"Milord, they're out of range!" cried Beckett. He was frightened, as he ought to be.

"Who said we had to hit them?" demanded James. He hardly knew what he was doing, but somehow, in his gut, of all places, he knew that he was right. "Shatter the pyramids!" If there was the slightest chance that the falling rubble could sink Turner's ship, then he was taking it.

* * *

**A/N: **The story is moving! I think...


	16. Crossroads

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize.

**Chapter 16: Crossroads**

The cannon ball struck the smooth rock of the pyramid with a dull thud. The rock rumbled and groaned in complaint, but it did not topple. Jack swore as he realized what his other self was trying to do. Damn that bugger to hell! Didn't he have any respect for ancient monuments? To be quite fair, Captain Jack Sparrow himself didn't care much about ancient monuments unless he could sell them, but he wouldn't destroy them for the sake of destroying them! Well, not without a good reason, anyway. To him, Sparrow did _not_ have a good reason for firing at the pyramids at the moment, especially not since there was every chance that if one of those tall spikes toppled over, it would hit their ship.

As if he could hear Jack's thoughts, James Sparrow's ship opened fire three more times, each shot hitting the very same pyramid. 'Bugger' was too mild a word to describe their situation. The men were shouting, swearing, praying, screaming and everything in between. The few women onboard were either shouting along with them or silent in fear. Jack learned a lot of curses in new languages that day.

The pyramid, being much taller than it was wide, swayed. Cracks appeared on its once smooth surface and joined with other cracks. There was a loud crack. Smaller bits of rubble fell into the water. The word 'small' was relative, as most of those pieces seemed to be the size of a small ship. For a moment, Jack wondered why the ancients or whoever made these things did not use a less brittle material. Then he had no time to think. The tall spire fell, slowly at first, and then gaining momentum. He wondered if he was going to make it out of this alive. He wondered if he was going to die without a bottle of rum in his hand. He wondered why the rum was always gone.

Perhaps someone was watching over them. No, someone _had _to be watching over them. The pyramid did not strike the ship, but fell about twenty yards from it. The waves it sent up almost made the ship capsize, although it didn't. They did, however, become completely soaked, although, in light of their circumstances, that was next to nothing.

"We can't turn back now, gents!" cried Jack. "It's immortality or death!"

"It could be both!" Balian hollered back.

"Well, yes, but I don't see the point of immortality if you end up dyin', savvy?" said Jack. He steered the ship towards the very centre of the triangle. There was another boom, another thud, and the second pyramid toppled over, once against barely missing them. Someone up there must have really liked their crew, because even the third pyramid missed them. However, as the third pyramid went down, the water began to froth. Jack _almost_ panicked —no, that was not a squawk. Captain Jack Sparrow did _not_ squawk. Squawking was for parrots, not pirates. That had been a...sound of surprise. He hoped no one had noticed it— as the water surrounding the ship began to bubble. It was becoming harder and harder to keep the vessel under his control. One did not often sail through bubbling water, and he was out of practise.

As the bubbling continued to increase, the buoyancy of the water decreased. It didn't happen particularly quickly or dramatically compared to other things that they'd been through, but the ship did slowly and surely begin to sink and there was nothing they could do about it. "Dyin' in pursuit of immortality!" cried Barbossa as he fired a parting shot into the air, as if he was saying farewell to the world. "A worthy thing to be dyin' for! It be ironic!"

"Yes, but I really do not see the humour in the irony," Paris shouted. The prince's curls were plastered to his head, and he looked decidedly miserable. "I think we are the punchline of this particular joke, Captain Barbossa!"

"Ye be needin' to learn to laugh at yerself, boy!"

"Perhaps another day, when I am not busy trying to stay alive!"

Jack decided that this was one of the few times when he felt inclined to agree with Barbossa. If he really had to die, and it seemed that he was not meant to be the immortal Captain Jack Sparrow after all, he would rather die with a grin on his face and a bottle of rum in his hand than weeping and regretting what could have been, because regret was a pointless emotion. It was a pity that all the rum was gone.

* * *

The other ship was floundering, but James failed to see any pleasure in it, possibly because his own ship had started floundering too. The bubbling had begun at the very centre of the triangle, or so it had seemed, and it was spreading outwards at a rapid pace, and now it had reached his ship. "Sir!" cried Mercer. "What are we to do?"

James had nothing to say. He did not know what to say. He'd never encountered such a phenomenon before, nor had he read about it anywhere. Perhaps no one had ever survived to tell the tale. And then the surface of the ocean caved in and became a giant dark watery maw, swallowing everything that they could see.

* * *

He'd thought that he would die, that he would never see his son again. But the pain...that could only mean that somehow, against all logic, he was alive. The Frank opened his eyes. He could see a clear blue sky. A loose bit of sail flapped above him; it was the only break in the colour. Slowly, he sat up. At first, the world spun around him. His head ached fiercely and he could feel the warmth of his own blood as it trickled down the side of his face from a gash on his forehead. He wiped the blood out of his eyes. The ship was fine. A few of the ropes had snapped, and some of the railing had splintered, but apart from that, there was nothing much wrong with it. His companions were lying all around him, but they were also beginning to stir.

"Jesus Christ!" groaned Will. "I haven't felt this bad since that time when Legolas challenged me to a drinking game!"

"Just be glad that you don't feel worse, Whelp," said Jack, wincing as he pushed himself up. "Man, I think I've twisted something." He rubbed his back and bent this way and that way, trying to work out the kink. "Mebbe I'm gettin' a bit old fer this."

"If you're old, laddie, then what am I?" said Gimli. He tipped water out of his helmet.

"A dwarf," said Jack quickly. "I thought you knew."

"Shut up, pirate," muttered Gimli. He was not in a very good mood, as was to be expected. "Where are we?"

"I've absolutely no idea," said Jack cheerfully, "but I'm pretty sure this ain't Hell."

"Thanks, Jack," said Elizabeth. "We feel so much better. So now what? Do we begin the search all over again, because I do not see anything that looks remotely like a fountain."

"Aw, come on, Lizzie," said Jack. "Where's yer sense of adventure?" The pirate was already on his feet, being one of those people who seemed to recover from everything extremely quickly. Sometimes, Balian wondered if Jack was actually some mystical creature disguised as a man. The pirate sauntered over to the wheel and snapped open his compass, and then his self-assured smile quickly faded away.

"Me compass is spinnin'," he said.

* * *

Night fell, and they still had no idea where they were. At least James Sparrow was nowhere in sight. Unfortunately, Jack was beginning to get the feeling that they needed Sparrow's map if they were to find the Fountain of Youth. The stars above were completely unfamiliar, so they could not use them for navigation. For all they knew, they could have been sailing in circles. Jack flipped his compass open and shut, praying for inspiration. He refused to believe that he would be unable to locate the fountain when his father had done it. He was by no means any less capable than Teague! He wished for rum. Rum always made him think more clearly. Think. Think. Think... "Oi!" he shouted, waking up the sleeping crew. "Anyone wanna hunt some Sparrow?"

"Sure," said Barbossa with a grin. He reached for his pistol.

"No, not this one, Scraggly Beard!"

"Barbossa, put that away," said Will tiredly. "Jack, you go ahead and do whatever you've planned. It can't possibly make things worse."

Jack flipped open his compass again. This time, the needle only spun around once, and then it stopped.

* * *

The stars. He couldn't believe it. The stars. They matched those on the map he had, the one he had treasured and studied for all these years. Finally, he had found his destination. Unfortunately, he still needed that damn sextant and the 'heart's desire', although instead of searching for them, he was waiting for them to come to him. He knew Turner needed the map, now that he seemed to be after the Fountain of Youth as well, and they needed the map. In the end, it all came down to who had the most fire power.

* * *

Paris knew that he ought to leave it to Jack, but he could not help worrying. Even in this strange world where everything, including the stars, was different, the fact remained that James Sparrow was still stronger than them, at least when it came to martial power. His ship was bigger, for one, and he had more cannons. Was it too much to hope that half of Sparrow's men had died during the...uh...incident of the bubbles? It was unlikely, considering none of their crew had died.

"Jack, what are we going to do _after_ we locate James Sparrow?" William was asking. One could not blame him for being worried. After all, he had entrusted his own life and the lives of his crew to this bunch of madmen. Paris was of the opinion that William was a man of great faith and too much optimism.

"Hold it!" said Jack. "Let's do this one step at a time, shall we?"

"You cannot simply make things up as you go along!"

"Why not? It's worked fine before. If you've got a plan, then everythin' makes sense and it makes it easier for your enemy to guess what you're gonna do, which then increases your chances for failure, savvy? Therefore, the best plan of action is no plan at all!" If Jack had thought that his little declaration would offer some reassurance to everyone else on the ship, he had been severely mistaken. He seemed to realize it too, because he quickly continued. "However, seein' as you're all uncreative rigid traditionalists who need plans, I've got one jus' fer your benefit."

"Why don't I think I will like this?" muttered Will.

Jack ignored his friend and cleared his throat. "Right, here's me plan. We find James Sparrow, get the map and find the Fountain. Satisfied?" There was silence.

"Jack..." said Elizabeth, shaking her head.

"Wot? It's got three steps! That's more than enough!"

* * *

Finding Sparrow was taking longer than they had anticipated. After the 'incident of bubbles', the sea remained as calm and still as blue glass. There was very little wind. Jack found his mind wandering as he steered the ship. He glanced at the horizon every now and then. There were no islands, not even a few rocks sticking above the surface of the water. There was just the sea...and more sea. Now, Jack loved the sea, but one could always have too much of a good thing, even rum. Indeed, there had been a time when he had been truly drunk, and he had paid dearly for it. No, not that time with Elizabeth. He was trying to banish _that_ from his memory because that was simply humiliating. No proper lady was supposed to be able to out-drink the most notorious pirate of the seven seas, even if it was a title that he'd given himself. Of course, Elizabeth had been no proper lady —the pirate had been in her blood from the very start, even if she hadn't had any pirate ancestors— but still. No, he was thinking about that time, right after the slave auctions, and right after he'd decided to do the right thing by one young girl...

* * *

_James drank deeply. The rum was sweet. He wanted to wash away the bitterness at the back of his throat and at the back of his mind. His uncle's words echoed in his head, along with his cousins' laughter. Too soft, they'd said he was. He would never amount to anything. His uncle was probably going to cut him loose, and he would inherit nothing. He hated them then, his uncle, his cousins, his mother; in short, he hated the world. The world had abandoned him, leaving him to survive on his own. He had nothing left except wild dreams that had been cruelly trodden on and belittled. Dreams were nothing without gold. _

_He let the empty bottle fall from his hand. It landed with a dull clunk on the rug, spilling a few dark golden drops onto the pale wool. He didn't care. The fire crackled too merrily, and his thoughts were still too clear. He reached for another bottle, only to find that he had none left. "Why is the rum always gone?" he muttered to himself. He didn't want to go down to the cellar to get more. He didn't want to see anyone. Not like this. _

_The young man cast himself onto his narrow bed and let out a ragged breath. No more. He'd do things differently from now on. He'd prove that he was as good as they all were. No; he'd prove that he was better..._

* * *

"Jack?" came Anamaria's voice. "Jack, wake up before you run us aground on some reef," snapped the small woman. For someone so beautiful, she sure had a temper. Actually, why did it seem that all the beautiful women he knew had a temper, apart from Helen? Paris was one lucky bastard. "What're you thinkin' 'bout anyway?"

"Do you remember how we met?" he asked suddenly, surprising everyone, even himself. Perhaps this was not the right time to talk about it, but if he didn't say these things now, he might never be mad enough to say them again.

"Of course I do," said Anamaria, giving him a concerned look. "I was about ten or eleven and I was screamin' for my ma, then a white man came along an' put me on his horse, talkin' to me all the time e'en though I didn't understand a word he was sayin'."

"Oh, you must have understood some of it," said Jack. "You quietened down, didn't you?"

"I must have exhausted myself," said Anamaria. "Why are we talkin' about this now?"

"Because I realize just how close I came to becomin' James Sparrow instead o' Jack Sparrow," said Jack quietly. "If I'd made just one different choice, just the one, then I'd be in that ship instead o' this one."

* * *

_He was tempted to kill him. He could have killed him. His uncle lay helpless in his bed, unable to move, unable to speak. His last will and testament lay on his desk. It would be so easy to change just a few words. Cutler and Jonathan were not obstacles. They were hardly worth his notice. Well, perhaps his older cousin posed more of a challenge but still, if he had chosen, he could have gotten rid of all the Becketts within the year, and no one would be the wiser. He had it all planned out in his head. _

_His uncle looked as if he was drowning in a sea of pillows. It would have been so easy to pick up one of those pillows and press it against the old man's face until he stopped breathing. Perhaps Isaac Beckett should not have trusted his nephew so willingly. Jack hesitated. What was he doing? This was his uncle, the man who had clothed him and raised him as his own son. Even if he was about to cut him loose now, the old man deserved his respect and love. He hated himself for even thinking such a thing. _

_Slowly, he approached the old man. His uncle watched him through half closed eyes. Jack knelt down beside the bed and placed his hand over his uncle's wizened one. "Goodbye," he said. "You won't see me again." And then he turned on his heel and left the darkened sickroom without touching anything else. _

* * *

"I was so close. If I'd given in, just for a moment, then...well, y'know what I'd have become now," said Jack. "I don't want to remember that." He shook his head. "I try to forget it, y'know, but bein' here...I can't help but remember."

"Is that why you drink so much?" said Elizabeth.

"Well, yes...no...I dunno. I just like drinkin'," said Jack. "Me da, he told me that the problem wasn't findin' immortality, it was learnin' to live with meself. To be honest —yes, I'm bein' honest this time so don't you raise yer eyebrows at me, savvy?— I don't know if I can live with myself, knowin' that I'd become...that." He jabbed a finger at the air in front of him, indicating the other Sparrow.

"But you resisted, Jack," said Anamaria. "You didn't kill yer uncle and yer cousins, no matter how much they deserved it. Your cousins, I mean. And I think that makes you a better man than most, Jack Sparra, so you can be proud o' yerself, got it? You're not James Sparrow and don't you forget that."

"I could have been James Sparrow," said Jack.

"Aye, but the fact be remainin' that ye be _Jack _Sparra an' a lot less successful than _James _Sparra," said Barbossa. The old pirate crossed his arms. "So you'd better not be mentionin' more o' that Lord Sparra nonsense, or else I'll be shootin' some sense into ye."

"Thanks, Hector," said Jack. He rolled his eyes. "I feel so much better. Now, if only there was some rum on board..."

* * *

**A/N: **I'm sorry for the short chapter but another plot bunny bit me and I got sidetracked with another project. I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway, and I've finally figured out how to use the sextant! Now they just need to get the other map.


	17. Violent Negotiations

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize.

**Chapter 17: Violent Negotiations**

Paris wondered if Jack even knew what he was going to do after he had located James Sparrow. They could hardly convince the real Lord Sparrow that he _wasn't_ Lord Sparrow. He might be many things, but an idiot, he was not. It was too bad that Elizabeth had made it so obvious that she had nothing but disgust for James Sparrow, or else there might have been a slim chance that she could convince Sparrow she was Eliza, and in that way somehow steal the map from him, not that Will was likely to have agreed to that plan, and the Trojan couldn't blame him.

If they were going to simply charge on board the _HMS Mercenary_ and take the map, they were more than likely to get killed. All in all, Paris didn't like their chances. He ran his hand through his tangled curls. What to do? He turned to Jack. The pirate stood at the stern, staring out at nothing in particular. He did not seem too concerned about their lack of ideas. Then again, Jack never seemed concerned. He was excellent when it came to hiding things.

"Are you fretting again?" came a voice from behind him. Paris whipped around to see Achilles slowly approaching him, his characteristic irritatingly smug half-smile on his face. What his cousin saw in the man, Paris truly did not know. Perhaps it was one of those mysteries that would never be solved.

"Aren't _you _even just a little bit worried?"

"Well, yes," admitted the Greek. "But I prefer to not allow others to read my emotions on my face like an open scroll."

"Are you afraid that you'll appear to have similarities with us mere mortals?" asked Paris.

"No. I'm just afraid I'll appear to have similarities with mortal women," said Achilles with a smirk.

"I'd hit you," said Paris, feeling better than he had for days. Forget about death. This was worth it. Totally and completely. "But I have a feeling that someone's about to do it for me."

"Is there something wrong with mortal women?" said Briseis from behind Achilles. She wasn't looking too happy with her husband. Paris suspected that _someone_ was not going to get any company tonight.

* * *

"Ship ahoy!" came Balian's voice from the crow's nest. William glanced up. The Frenchman was but a tiny silhouette against the cloudless sky. Sailors' jargon sounded strange in his medieval French accent. The young man still couldn't quite believe that the man he was looking at right now had been a baron, and one of the more important ones at that. He was simply too noble to be a nobleman. Whilst the Frenchman himself had not said much about his past —he was not the talkative type— his companions' talk had given William enough clues to paint a portrait of his character. The words 'self-sacrificing' and 'foolhardy' came to mind when thinking about Balian of Ibelin.

The man in question was quite oblivious to William's thoughts about him. He slid down the ropes like a seasoned sailor, using his sleeves to stop his hands from getting rope burn. "It's Sparrow's ship," he reported to the others, "and he isn't moving. I think he has been waiting for us to find him."

"Of course he's been waitin'," said Jack with a snort. Jack was another enigmatic figure who intrigued William, perhaps even more so because he could not even find words to describe him beyond 'mad' and 'brilliant'. Whenever he thought he'd had the pirate's character pinned down, Jack would do something to overwrite that character portrait. "Devious blighter like him. He wants the sextant and the compass as much as we want his map, an' he knows that chasin' after us will do him no good because our ship is smaller an' faster, savvy? So he'll play the ambush predator instead, although it's pretty hard to do any ambushin' in an open ocean. You can see for miles and miles."

"How could he forget that, then?" asked Balian.

"He probably didn't," said Jack. "He knew we would go to him."

"Trying to attack his ship will do us absolutely no good," said Will.

"I know that, Whelp," said Jack, giving the younger pirate a withering glance that conveyed everything else he'd wanted to say, and more. Will held up both hands, with palms facing Jack, as a gesture of peace. "Just making sure, Jack," he said. "One can never be sure what's going on inside that head of yours." He ducked as his friends swatted at him.

"If James Sparra were as smart as me, he'd know better than to take what is ours by force," said Jack, continuing on with his speech as if Will had not spoken.

"What are you thinking, Jack?" asked Balian. The Frenchman narrowed his eyes and gave the pirate a sideways glance. In return, Jack flashed him a brilliant grin, revealing all four of his gold teeth. They gleamed brightly in the sunlight.

"You should know," said the pirate. "you did the same thing with the sultan that time, remember? Diplomacy is always better than force. Why fight them when you can talk at them?"

* * *

Parlay? Was Jack Sparrow completely out of his mind? Jonathan Beckett suspected that he was, and had been for a while. Why else would that pirate have done all the things he'd done and succeeded? Only a madman with an unnatural stroke of luck could have done all those things and survived to spin even wilder tales about his misadventures.

"Is he serious?" asked James Sparrow. The two men were sitting in James' cabin. No one else was in there with them. The man who had rowed over to the _HMS Mercenary_, a former naval officer by the name of James Norrington, bearing the verbose and hastily scrawled note, was being detained outside. Sparrow had not yet given the men instructions about how to deal with him.

"He is as serious as Jack Sparrow can ever be," replied Jonathan. That was to say that he was not entirely serious, but James didn't have to know that. It was always useful to keep some knowledge exclusive to oneself. Who knew when it would come in useful?

"And what do you think, Mr. Beckett?" asked James. "Shall I execute his man and send back his head, or shall I treat with that _rabble_?" He spat out the last word as if it burned his tongue.

"It depends on what you want more, milord," said Jonathan calmly. He knew he was getting the upper hand now. Without his impressive spy network and naval power, James Sparrow had to rely on Beckett's knowledge of Jack's character and his experience in dealing with Jack and Barbossa's motley crew. "If it is revenge that you seek, then, by all means, declare open war on the pirates. You can only win. On the other hand, if the Fountain of Youth is your ultimate goal, then know that the pirates will destroy the sextant once they realize that death is inevitable."

"And what if I want both?" asked Sparrow, drumming his fingers impatiently on the surface of his desk.

"Then, milord, you ought to negotiate with them, yield to their conditions —and set some of your own, of course. They will grow suspicious if you do not bargain hard with them— and after they lead you to the Fountain, kill them." Well, Sparrow could most certainly _try_ to kill those men. Jack was not an easy adversary to get rid of. Both he and Cutler had learned that the hard way. Even if James Sparrow did manage to get rid of Jack, chances were that he would have to pay dearly for his victory. Like the vulture that he was, Jonathan would be waiting patiently to pick up the scraps.

Sparrow was silent, deep in thought. The drumming of his fingers slowed until it seemed he was tapping out a funeral dirge. "Release Norrington," he finally said. "Send him back to his captain. I am going to make a deal with the devil."

* * *

"They're flying a white flag!" The excitement of the crew was so tangible that Jack could almost imagine himself cutting through it with a sword. He shook his head at the sailors' naivety. Did they really think it was going to be that simple? This was only the first part of his plan, negotiating with...well, his evil self. He had no doubt that Sparrow would 'accept' his conditions, but it what was going to happen afterwards that he was most worried about. Like himself, Sparrow was undoubtedly going to renege all his promises after the Fountain of Youth had been located. In terms of manpower, they were no match for Sparrow, unless they could somehow get Hector to help them. However, it was not Hector's purpose to be their trump card. In the end, it would be a matter of who was more slippery.

"Prepare me a boat!" he commanded as he saw a boat rowing towards their ship. "I'm gonna meet them halfway. Whelp, you're comin' wiv me, an' so are you, William. You too, Lizzie, and...uh...Barbossa." He might have hated the man, but there were very few people who were wilier than Hector Barbossa. Was there room for one more? "Hey, Elf, you wanna come?"

"Not particularly," said Legolas, "but if you insist, Jack, I shall accompany you."

"I would be honoured by your presence, your highness," said Jack, giving the elf an overly dramatic and ornate bow.

"Why should I come?" asked Will. "I am not a very good negotiator, and Sparrow loathes me. You would be better off with Paris."

"Sparrow loathes me too," said William.

"And I loathe him," said Elizabeth.

"That's the idea!" cried Jack, throwing up his hands dramatically to express his apparent frustration. Had they learned nothing at all during all this time they'd spent with him? "Since you all loathe each other, you bein' there will unsettle him, savvy? That'll give me a chance to talk circles around him. And, who knows? Maybe I'll come up with somethin' right there and then and show you how the _real_ Captain Jack Sparrow does things."

* * *

If he hadn't been such a bastard, Elizabeth might have thought that James Sparrow was a handsome man. Unlike Jack, he did not hide his striking features underneath a messy growth of facial hair. Everything about him was absolutely meticulous, even though he'd just been drawn into another world where there was, apparently, no land. Somehow, he had managed to keep his jacket from getting stained, and his boots were highly polished. There was something very wrong with that.

Behind him were Jonathan Beckett and Mercer, along with two redcoats whom she could not recognize. Elizabeth was surprised to see Beckett at first, although she soon realized that she had no reason to be surprised. Beckett had only ever served himself, and at the moment, being James Sparrow's lapdog had served him quite well. He gave her a falsely genial nod. She ignored him. He was of no consequence. She'd dealt with him before and she could do so again. Now James Sparrow was a nasty piece of work.

She glared at him, clearly remembering every single wound that had been on Will's body. That had been Sparrow's doing and she was never going to forgive him for it. His eyes flicked to her face, down her body, and back to her face again before he turned his attention to Jack. "You must be a very brave and foolish man to bargain with me, Jack Sparrow," he said.

"Neither, mate," said Jack, sounding as cheerful and drunken as he always did. "So, let's cut to the chase here, shall we? Now, I'd love to kill you and stick your head on a spike fer what you've done to me friends, but since you have somethin' that we want, I'll settle for that."

"If you call _that_ negotiating, then you are more of a madman than I'd thought," said James Sparrow in his very precise English accent.

"No, I'm just bein' an honest man," said Jack, giving his other self a wide grin. "Now, we've got somethin' you want, yes, and since neither of us are gonna give up what we do have, we're either gonna have to fight to the death or work with one another, savvy?"

"Me, work with _you_?" said Sparrow. He wasn't the only one who was shocked. Will reached up to grip Jack by the arm, although the pirate quickly shook him off and gave him a look. Elizabeth didn't understand what was going on inside the pirate's head. She didn't even try to.

"You could just give us the map, and then we'll let you live," she said.

"Women should be seen and not heard," said James Sparrow. "I see that your father has not trained you well enough."

That. Was. It. Elizabeth pulled out her pistol and unsheathed her sword. To hell with honour and to hell with diplomacy. She was in no mood to be leered at and insulted by the man who had tortured her husband. Will seemed to be thinking the exact same thing. Only, he had a quicker reaction.

The man lunged at Sparrow, forgetting that he was in a rowboat and that his adversary was in another rowboat. Elizabeth leapt right after him, and the force of their combined landings caused the other boat to capsize before either Mercer or the redcoats could react. Beckett, of course, was trying to get as far away from the struggle as possible.

The water was not cold, but the sudden drop in temperature still came as a shock to Elizabeth. She had no time to be shocked as someone grabbed her by the hair and pushed her head underwater. She reached for the hand that held her and bent the little finger backwards, causing whoever it was to let go of her. She kicked away before he could grab her again.

Her face broke through the surface of the water. William had also leapt into the melee, bless him, and Jack was signalling to their ship. The _Mercenary_ was already sailing towards them. If someone didn't do something soon, they were going to be obliterated. The woman went back underwater again, this time of her own accord. She needed to find Sparrow, somehow, and take him as a hostage. Somehow. She had no idea what she was going to do. It was hard to identify anyone because all she could see were their kicking feet. However, one pair of boots looked better than all the rest.

She saw a cloud of bubbles in the corner of her eye and she whipped around, ready to skewer whoever it was, only to find that it was Legolas. The elf's hastily cut golden hair was floating around his head like a halo. She jerked her head at the pair of fancy boots. Legolas nodded; he understood.

* * *

To say that he was shocked at the way things turned out was an understatement. He hadn't expected negotiations go to smoothly, but neither had he expected to be attacked. There were conventions against this sort of thing, weren't there? Even pirates put on some semblance of civilization for the sake of their own reputations. Usually.

He felt something grabbing his leg and dragging him downwards. It didn't help that one of the two William Turners was attempting to drown him. Rage made the man strong. Water closed over his head. Immediately, someone wrapped an arm around his neck and then put a blade against his cheek. Although no words were exchanged, the meaning was clear. He was to keep still, or else that knife would go somewhere unpleasant. It was hard to see who his captor was through all the bubbles, but he could guess. It was too strong to be a woman, and the other men were still battling it out near the surface, so this could only be the pale golden man he'd seen standing behind Sparrow. Perhaps he ought to have paid more attention to the quiet ones. They were usually the most dangerous.

James didn't bother resisting. It would be futile, and he cared very much about his own well-being.

* * *

Jack couldn't believe his luck when Legolas and Elizabeth resurfaced, manhandling James Sparrow. There was something very comical about it, actually, especially since Elizabeth's thin white cotton shirt was now —no, Will would kill him and Anamaria would kill him for thinking about _that_.

"Throw down your arms!" shouted Jack. "No, not you, Whelp. You keep your sword. We've got your master. Yes, _your_ master, Jonathan, who, by the way, happens to be...my other self. My lesser self!" Yes, he had to rub it in. He couldn't remember ever seeing a Beckett so shocked before. It was a beautiful sight.

"Stop your monologue and help us, Jack!" snapped Elizabeth as she shoved James Sparrow into their boat. Jack quickly unwound his filthy sash —it had once been a nice orange brocade from Harad— and tied James Sparrow's hands together with it. Elizabeth climbed into the boat with some help from Legolas. The elf, although still weakened by the poison, needed no help. It seemed that the swim and the fight had invigorated him somewhat.

Will and William were still treading water and pointing their swords at Mercer, the redcoats and Beckett. "What do we do with these?" asked Will.

"Take 'em too," said Barbossa. The old pirate had wisely stayed out of the altercation. "We'll not be wantin' any of them to take control of the soldiers and there be plenty of room in the brig an' I be certain they won't be needin' much food or drink."

"I shudder to think what the children have been learning from you, Captain Barbossa," said Elizabeth with a devilish grin. Jack didn't want to think about it either. In his opinion, Barbossa was corrupting the little ones.


	18. To Immortality and Beyond

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize.

**Chapter 18: To Immortality and Beyond**

The brig was damp and cramped. He could not sit comfortably, as there were bars on the floor digging into him. He could not stand comfortably as the brig was just four feet high. Whoever had designed this had clearly kept the prisoners' comfort —or, rather, the lack thereof— in mind. It was ingenious, really; passive torture. He would have to make sure all his ships had brigs like these when he got back.

James had never thought that he would ever end up in a brig. He had never thought that he would lose to a rabble of outlaws and a woman who could neither control her temper nor understand her place in society. In fact, the idea of simply losing to anybody had never crossed his mind. It was an unfortunate and unexpected obstruction to his plans, although he felt certain that he was going to overcome it, in one way or another. In the end, he always won. He was James Sparrow. Yes, he was locked up in the most uncomfortable brig he had ever had the fortune of visiting, but no, he was not going to give up. There had to be a way. These men had to have weaknesses that he could take advantage of and exploit. They were uncommonly attached to one another, these outlaws, as could be seen by that daring rescue of Turner from the gallows. They also seemed to care immensely for the welfare of their women. Perhaps he could use that concern against them; after all, the women were weaker and therefore easier to target.

And what about the rest of the crew? They were mostly poor and uneducated men who had turned to piracy because they were not good enough for anything else in life. Only their luck had ensured that they had met Turner, the one captain in the world who was soft enough to take those imbeciles under his wing and allow them to learn some skills. What would they do for a comfortable life, he wondered? Would they betray their captain for clemency and a few pieces of gold, or perhaps even a commission? Perhaps not all of them would take the offer, but there were bound to be one or two bad fish in the sea.

* * *

They had the map, they had the sextant and they had the compass. Now, if only they had an idea about how to go about using these three things. The compass' needle had started spinning in lazy circles again. _It_ was not going to point them in the direction of the Fountain of Youth; at least, not all on its own. Then again, they'd known that for a long time already, or else they would not ahve gone to all that trouble to obtain the map.

Will looked on in silence as Jack pondered those three things fit together. The map was one of the stars, rather than one of landmasses, which further convinced Will that there _was_ no land in this world; a truly worrying thought. There was a triangle drawn on the map, but they had no idea if it was an arrow that was meant to point to something, or if it was just something else that was just there, like those indecipherable symbols that no one could read. In the corner, of course, was the phrase about the stargazer's heart's desire leading the way by lying on the surface of...something. He'd already memorized that.

"This sextant doesn't even work properly, William," said Jack as he fiddled with the piece of navigational equipment. It was a particularly cumbersome piece, to be quite honest; larger than most sextants that Will had ever encountered.

"Maybe you simply don't know how it works," retorted William. Tensions were high. They were running low on food and water and if they did not find the Fountain soon, there was ever chance they could end up dying of thirst or starvation in this alien world. It was not the best way to go.

"I've been sailin' the sea for as long as you've been alive," said Jack. Will was certain that he was exaggerating. Jack wasn't _that_ old, was he? If he was, then he certainly didn't look it.

"Give it to Captain Barbossa, then," said William. "I am certain that he has been sailing the ocean longer than either of us. He would know if it's your problem or the sextant's." Will almost winced at the acerbic retort. Did William know how insulting this would be to Jack? If there was one person in the world Jack could not even _pretend_ to like, it was Hector Barbossa. To imply that Barbossa was in any way his superior was the ultimate insult when it came to Jack Sparrow, and William hadn't just implied it; he'd outright stated it.

Jack scowled. "An' why would Barbossa known any better than me?" he demanded. "If you don't remember, it was _my_ genius that saved you from the clutches of Sparra!"

"It be a matter of experience," drawled the old pirate, clearly pleased that someone was acknowledging his supposed superiority. Of course, said superiority had never been proved, unless wiliness was a virtue.

"What was it that found Isla de Meurta, eh?" asked Jack. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even have known of its existence!" Compass, map and sextant were forgotten as the squabbling escalated and intensified. They went off on random tangents, arguing about anything and everything, from tolerance of alcohol to the ability to charm court ladies. No one noticed when someone else reached for the navigational equipment.

* * *

Paris was no expert when it came to navigation. So far, he had left the task to those who were much more knowledgeable than he was in that area. However, this was different. He had been happy to sit back and let the others do what they were best at doing those other times because he hadn't been in a huge hurry to go anywhere. This time, he just wanted to get this damn quest over and done with so that everything could go back to normal and he could go back to his wife and child in Gondor.

It wasn't the actual navigational equipment that had caught his attention, but rather the strange symbols that had been drawn over everything, creating curious patterns that somehow had an odd sort of relevance in his mind. No one else seemed to have given them much thought, but he was sure they were there for a reason. He felt as if he was on the edge of grasping it, whatever it was. Maybe the symbols were the key; the final clue they needed to unlock this door.

Now, Paris had not seen many compasses in his life, but the shape of Jack's was different from all the others that he had seen, namely Barbossa's, Will's, Elizabeth's and now William's. The others had been round. Jack's had a square casing. On each corner of the square casing was a very distinctive symbol, and he happened to notice that one of them corresponded with the sumbol drawn on the largest angle of the triangle on the map. That triangle, was, oddly enough, a right-angled isosceles triangle. One did not often find right-angled triangles on maps. It couldn't be a coincidence, especially since the two shorter sides of the triangle were the same length as the sides of the square compass. Since no one was taking any notice of him, he shifted the compass and adjusted it so that the symbol on the compass was sitting on the corresponding symbol on the triangle. It seemed like the right thing to do; after all, it fit perfectly.

Nothing happened. The needle continued to spin slowly. However, he was not finished yet. He brought the sextant closer to the compass. The needle slowed down even more. Something about the sextant was influencing the compass; maybe it was purely magic. He tried moving the sextant around the compass to see if the needle was following it. It wasn't, but the needle did speed up and slow down. _The stargazer's heart's desire lies upon the surface, illuminating the way. _Paris moved the index arm out of the way and placed the sextant on top of the compass. The symbols on the arc were the same as the ones painted on the top of the compass.

And then, the needle abruptly turned backwards and stopped. At that moment, he realized that everyone had stopped arguing and they had been watching him.

The Trojan didn't know whether he ought to be pleased or insulted that they were so shocked and awed. Were they impressed because the performance had been truly impressive, or were they impressed simply because it had been _him_ who had finally understood how to use the three things in conjunction with one another, instead of someone like...say...Will? "So?" he said. "Now may we return to the task of locating the Fountain of Youth instead of arguing about...what was it again?"

"Mate, I've no idea," said Jack. He was grinning from ear to ear and his dark eyes practically sparkled with glee. "Me, I just like arguin' for the sake of arguin', savvy? It's therapeutic."

* * *

Since the compass only pointed out the path on the map and not the actual direction of the Fountain, they had to travel by night, which was fine by Jack. The stars in the sky were so numerous that it almost looked as if it had snowed in the heavens. The water was glassy and smooth; the only disturbance came from their ship, reminding him of the nights spent at World's End. Of course, he was much more optimistic about this trip. He could almost taste immortality on the tip of his tongue. Jack had no idea what he would do with immortality, but he figured that there was so much in the world, and so many worlds, that he would have plenty to enjoy. Besides, one could never tire of old favourites such as Liar's Dice and drinking rum and sailing the ocean. Oh, and aggravating others. He hummed tunelessly to himself as he steered the ship, always keeping an eye on the brightest stars; those served as landmarks.

They'd been sailing in this direction for three nights now, and yet they had not seen anything. Still, Jack was optimistic. He was nothing if not an optimist. If life threw him lemons, he would make fireworks...somehow. He had no idea how, but he supposed he would know when the time came. The one thing that was ruining his mood was the lack of rum. It made his mind do funny things.

"I think I might see something!" called Elizabeth from the crow's nest.

"Something nice, I hope!" said Will.

"I have no idea, Will Turner; it's big and black and looks like a rock."

At the word 'rock', everyone perked up considerably. They had not seen a rock for days. If there were rocks, perhaps there was also land in this place after all.

* * *

They found Elizabeth's 'rock' the next night. It was an island, about the size of Shipwreck Cove; it was surrounded by yet another labyrinth of smaller rocks, mostly sunken in the water. Although they were impatient to be on land again, they decided, unanimously for a change, that it would be best to leave the navigation of the labyrinth until morning, when they could actually see where they were going.

Legolas could hardly believe it. After all this time, all this doubt, it turned out that perhaps the Fountain was real. He didn't think about whether this could be the wrong place, and that the Fountain might not be on this island. He couldn't afford to think about such things. As he lay under the stars on the deck that night, all he could think about was regaining what he had lost. After all this, he could finally have his life back; the life that he had been born to.

"You know, lad, you should probably be sleeping instead o' gazing at the stars as if they will give you answers," said Gimli. Legolas tilted his head backwards to see his dwarven friend looking down at him in concern.

"Have you ever been so excited that you cannot sleep, Gimli?" he asked.

"Yes," said Gimli, sitting down beside the elf. There was a smile on his weathered face. "I was just a wee young lad, then, just twenty five years of age, and I was to be presented with my first battle axe and initiated as a warrior." He shook his head. "That was a long time ago."

"Not so long, my friend," said the elf. "And considering that we may have eternity stretching before us, it will soon seem like the blink of an eye."

Gimli snorted. "So says the two thousand year old elf," he said.

"Oh, I am much older than that," said Legolas.

"You do not act it, lad," said Gimli. "On a good note, you do not look it either."

"I shall take both as compliments," said Legolas. Then he grew serious. "I have been thinking that, if the Fountain of Youth does indeed exist, and we do find it, would you drink from it, friend Gimli?"

"I've been thinking about that myself," said the dwarf. He had grown sombre too. He sighed and stroked his beard. "I'd never thought that I would be given the choice between mortality and immortality. If I do choose the latter, I may have to watch everyone I love fade away and the world change around me while I remain the same." He looked at Legolas. "I suppose that is what you elves all have to face."

"Yes," said Legolas. "Which is why we must all leave Middle Earth one day. We cannot deal with the changes, nor can we deal with the sense of loss. It is a wound that becomes too great to heal, with time. Nobody grows any younger, and even if our bodies do not age, our souls do."

"And that will be what I will face if I should decide to drink from the Fountain," said Gimli. "Then I shall be able to spend eternity with you and the rest of our drunken crew." He raised an eyebrow. "I cannot say that such a notion is completely appealing."

"I'm insulted," said another voice. Legolas sat up. Achilles stood there behind them, a grin on his face. He came and sat beside them. "I thought you enjoyed our company."

"Can you not sleep either?" asked the elf. "I thought you could sleep through a siege."

"That's Balian," said Achilles. "I can only sleep through skirmishes. And no, I cannot sleep. Can you imagine? Immortality. I've been searching for it for all these years. Of course, I was searching for fame and glory, but real immortality had never been an option until now."

"Have you ever thought of the implications?" asked Gimli.

"Yes," said the Greek. "There wasn't much to think about. The only people I care for are here, barring the King and the Queen. My cousin is dead, I have left my men in Epirus and I don't suppose I shall ever see them again. I have nothing to lose by becoming immortal." He shrugged. "Perhaps it is overly simple, but that is the way I see things."

"It is a blessing to be able to see things simply and clearly," said the elf. He shook his head and turned his gaze back up to the stars. There were so many, stretching on forever. They definitely put him in his place, reminding him that he was only one unit in the vast infinitum of time and space. "Perhaps it is the gift of the young."

"I'm hardly young, Legolas," said Achilles, "and I have seen much more than most men ought to have."

"That may be," said Gimli, "but our elf here is positively ancient. I believe he called Aragorn and myself, and Balian, children."

"But you are, compared to me," said Legolas. "So you should really show me more respect, come to think of it. Were you not taught to respect your elders?" He grinned. The prospect of getting his senses back cheered him up immensely. As for those problematic dilemmas that most of his friends would be facing soon, let them deal with those when they came to them. For now, he was more than happy to enjoy some pointless banter. He hadn't done that for a long while.

* * *

The island wasn't just a rock surrounded by more rocks, it turned out. It became a vibrant green, an emerald sitting in the middle of a blazing golden ocean, as the day dawned. They could hear the cacophony of creatures living on that island performing their morning symphony, reminding everyone onboard the ship that they had come for something, and now was the time to start getting the task done.

The submerged rocks around the island were not merely rocks at all, but ancient ruins covered in carved runes matching those found painted on the compass, sextant and map. The water was so clear that they could see the sea floor, or what wasn't covered by the skeletons of once towering monuments. Giant stone pillars of white rock protruded from the ocean's surface. Swirling designs covered the capitals and on the pillars themselves were text and images that probably told of this forgotten civilization's glorious past. It was a humbling sight, reminding them that nothing in the physical world was truly eternal. Despite the greatness of these people, whoever they were, they had fallen, and now there was no one to remember them. In a few thousand years, maybe these pillars would weather away, and there would be nothing to show that they had even been there.

It was ironic, if this was indeed where the Fountain of Youth was to be found; surrounding the prospect of immortality were monuments to mortality. Balian wondered what would happen to the things he knew in a thousand years. Would Jerusalem still be as sacred as it is now, or would it lie in ruins, like this once great city? Would anyone even remember there was such a place as Jerusalem? And what about Gondor, and Rohan, and France, and the Sultanate? Dynasties were always rising and falling and borders were always shifting. Who knew? Perhaps in a thousand years, there wouldn't even be such a thing as a Frenchman.

"And why are you looking so morbid, Monsieur?" said Jack from behind. Miraculously, he'd let Barbossa take the wheel.

"I was merely thinking," said Balian. "About the future."

"Too much thinking only causes strife, my friend," the pirate advised wisely. "In fact, sometimes it's best not to think at all and just...do whatever it is that needs doing. Without thinking."

"Is that what you do?" asked the Frenchman.

"I try," said Jack. "That's why I'm so successful, savvy?" He clapped Balian on the back. "Cheer up! From today onwards, you'll no longer be the only immortal human being in the world. That's gotta be a good thing, right, to have someone to keep you company through eternity?"

* * *

_They could feel it, the approaching presence. New life. Sentient life. It had been more than twenty years since the last mortal had visited, bringing news of the outside world in exchange for immortality. Not that anyone would have stopped him even if he hadn't brought them anything. Only those who were worthy were able to find this place; those who probably had something to offer their world if they lived forever. _

_But there was something else too; something they had never sensed before. What were immortals doing here? They had no need for the elixir of eternal life. There was nothing else in this place for them. It was strange. They had never met another immortal before. For better or for worse, something cataclysmic was going to happen. This was a sign from the Divine. Perhaps someone was here to take their place, after millennia of guarding the elixir. Perhaps after today, there would be no more elixir to guard. _


	19. Of Dragons and Other Nasty Beasties

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize.

**Chapter 19: Of Dragons, Wyverns and Other Nasty Beasties**

This place was ancient. He could feel it in his bones and smell it in the air. It was so old that it almost made him feel young again, and he had not felt young in a long while. Who had built these monuments? Even after so long, their magnificence had not faded, although vines had climbed up the intricate stonework and moss had covered the foundations. Many of the carved details had weathered away, but he was able to see the shapes and countenances of men on some of the statues and pillars. Fantastic winged beasts, also, had been sculpted by hands that had long since become nothing but brittle bones. There were crypts too, and crumbling brick walls.

Legolas stared around him. It was so green and shadowed that it reminded him of his own home. Morning mist lay above the ground like a pale translucent swirling blanket of moisture, obscuring the ancient cobblestones that they were walking on. A breeze blew, clearing away the mist, and the elf found that he was standing not on cobblestones, they were coloured cobblestones in the middle of a large triangular courtyard.

"Wot is it with these people and triangles?" asked Jack as he looked around him. "Wot's wrong with a square?"

"What's wrong with triangles?" asked William. They had brought Sparrow along with them, afraid that if left to his own devices, he might somehow escape from the brig. If he was anything like Jack, then he really would have done it, and then perhaps sailed away with their ship, leaving them stranded. Mercer had also been taken out of the brig, since he, too, was too dangerous to leave alone. They had left Jonathan Beckett behind, however, seeing as Jack had deemed him to be completely incompetent. Obviously, Jack did not have a very high opinion of his family at all.

It still surprised the elf to think of Jack as being closely related to the Becketts. He'd only ever met one Beckett —and that was Jonathan— but from what he had heard, there were no similarities between them and Jack, apart from the fact that they had all sailed to the so-called 'New World' at some point.

Although the paint had mostly flaked away, there was enough residue left for them to see what had been painted onto the stones. Strange symbols littered the courtyard; symbols that looked a lot like those on the compass, sextant and map. He wondered what manner of people had painted them, what they meant by them, and what their language had sounded like. He couldn't imagine disappearing like this and being forgotten, as if he had never existed before. Immense sadness welled up inside him. Perhaps that would happen to the elves once the last of them left Middle Earth for the West. All that would be left would be the skeletons of their once great monuments and works, and perhaps a few stray wisps of legend which would then become so warped as to be unrecognizable. Perhaps that was the fate that all peoples faced at the end.

"This stonework is excellent," Gimli marvelled, looking around him. On each side of the triangle were nine pillars. They had been put there for no reason other than to be there. Each bore a different design. Indeed, it seemed as if a different artist had been hired to create each of these pillars, for they all bore signature motifs that were different from all the rest. The capitals of the columns depicted strange beasts with the heads of eagles and limbs of eagles, bodies of snakes and the wings of bats. Some slept, others battled, and some nursed their young. Upon some of these were men with tall helmets and great epaulettes which made them look as if they had wings themselves.

There were also creatures with six limbs each, and carvings of what looked like temples or palaces, and great cities that stretched out beyond the horizon. There were proud ships, with some of those magnificent winged beasts flying around their masts as they sailed from island to island, bringing goods and news. And there were maps; huge detailed maps that covered the entire surfaces of some of the pillars, carefully carved and labelled with the same symbols that littered the stones of the courtyard. Once, a long time ago, this place had been the centre of a thriving civilization in an archipelago, with many metropolitan areas spreading out from here. Now, this was all that was left. All the other islands seemed to have been claimed by the sea, if the sunken stone monuments off-shore were anything to go by.

"All right, all right!" shouted Jack impatiently. The pirate's voice shattered Legolas' musings. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who had been disturbed. There was a cacophony in the near distance as a flock of what looked like birds rose from the trees. However, upon closer inspection, these creatures did not have feathers, and there were teeth in their beaks. Their wings, instead, were made of a thin membrane of skin stretched over long bony fingers, like the wings of the fell beasts of Sauron.

"I don't like this place," said Paris. The Trojan's eyes were wide and he was gripping his bow so tightly that his knuckles appeared to be ivory.

"Where is your sense of adventure?" said Achilles. "This is marvellous! Imagine what we might find here! Perhaps there are dragons."

"Oh, I hope not," said Balian. "From what I've heard about dragons, I'm sure I would not like meeting one."

"Forget about dragons and hydras and werewolves and whatever manner of nasty beasties you might be thinkin' of," said Jack. "I don't see no _fountain_, and _that_ is what we're here for, savvy? So hurry up and get movin', gentlemen and ladies! Chop chop!"

"I would really love to cover my shield with the skin of a dragon," said Achilles to no one in particular. "And I would mount its head on the wall."

"Perhaps it suits your masculine sensibilities," said Briseis, "but if you do slay a dragon and hang its head on our wall, I assure you that I shall never make love to you in that room again. That warg pelt you use as a rug is hideous enough on its own."

"But it was a magnificent beast! Surely you must be proud that I slew it."

"Its hair feels like the bristles of my hairbrush! Trust me, it did not make for a comfortable surface to...sleep on."

"I suppose I _was_ on top most of the time."

"I did not need to know that!" called Paris from the front of the column.

* * *

As they ventured deeper into the forest that seemed to blanket the whole of the island, Balian became more uneasy, although he could not exactly say why. Perhaps it was instinct; perhaps the talk of dragons had made him a little bit nervous. There were sounds here that he had never heard before in his whole life, and the trees were so tall that they seemed to touch the very heavens. All the plants were unfamiliar to him. There were ferns, which he had seen before, but these were very different ferns, with leaves that were as long as he was tall, and thick woody stems. And although there were patches of sunlight on the forest floor, there was no grass to be seen anywhere, despite the fact that the conditions would allow grass to grow.

At times, they would come across bones that had come from giant creatures. Some of these bore giant grooves, as if something with teeth the size of daggers had gnawed on them. Such discoveries did not put them at ease at all, although Achilles had started wondering about what manner of beast would have such huge teeth and bones.

As if someone up there was listening, somewhere close by, a twig cracked. Immediately, the Frank's hand flew to his sword. He slowly drew it, taking care not to make too much noise. His feelings had been right; they were being stalked by something much more dangerous than any of them.

"Do we run? Do we not run?" whispered Paris. Jack immediately put a finger to his lips before tapping his ear, indicating that he was trying to determine what it was that had broken the twig. Now more than ever, Balian wished that Legolas still had his sensitive hearing. It would have come in useful at this moment.

There was a low growl, a grating rumbling sound that made even the bravest of them jerk in fear. "Run!" Jack said. Well, squeaked. They didn't need to be told twice. It was as if some primitive instinct had been awoken in them. They let go of all pride and dignity and ran as if the very legions of Hell were behind them. Actually, Balian didn't think they'd run this fast when they'd been in hell.

Something burst out from the trees, something big. He didn't really pay enough attention to any other details. Frankly, he didn't care as long as it didn't catch him. For once, even the prisoners were cooperating. No one wanted to get eaten; that much was clear. The ground shook beneath the footsteps of whatever it was that was hunting them. And then they found themselves running across a great plain that would have resembled the Pelennor fields if the plants that grew on it had been a little shorter. Make that much shorter. The tops of the 'grass' reached their chests. This was indeed a land of giants.

The Frank risked glancing back. To be quite honest, he was a little indignant that they seemed to be being chased by something that resembled a giant chicken with knobbly scales instead of feathers and a jaw full of sharp curved teeth that resembled the sabres of the Turks. The creature roared, furious that its prey seemed to be eluding it. Glistening strands of thick saliva hung from its teeth. It increased its pace; for something so large, it was certainly very fast.

"Didn't you say you wanted to hunt some dragon?" Paris hollered to Achilles. "There's your dragon!"

"I'm thinking we need bigger weapons!" replied the Greek.

* * *

His lungs burned. He wondered if he was going to collapse; he could hardly feel his legs anymore. And then the roaring of the beast behind them grew fainter. It had stopped; apparently, it only chased after prey for a short while. Legolas thanked whatever deities there could be; if he had been his usual self, he would have had no problem outrunning that creature. In fact, his usual self might have even dared to hunt such a beast. However, in this state, he would not even think about risking it.

"We lost it?" he heard Will gasp.

"We lost it, thank God," said Balian breathlessly. "Although I doubt it's the only one of its kind."

"We should probably stay in the forest from now on," said Paris. "At least there are trees to climb."

"Unless there are flying versions of those things," pointed out Elizabeth. "Remember those carvings?"

"Yes, but they're probably not as big," said the Trojan. "Hopefully."

"God willing, we won't find out," said Balian.

"Oh, I've a feeling we will," said Jack. He too, was breathless, but his sense of humour was still fully intact. "And then our Greek friend can show us how he's actually an incarnation of Saint George."

"I don't know who that is," said Achilles. "But I shall try not to disappoint."

* * *

Dragon and wyverns. Who knew what else lurked on this island? It was a dangerous place, and Sparrow fleetingly wished that he had his redcoats with him. They might not have been able to do much against such powerful creatures, but at least they could have distracted them for a little while as more important people escaped. However, he pushed that thought out of his head, not because he felt guilty about thinking of feeding his men to beasts —he saw absolutely no problem with that— but because there was never any point in wishing one could change what one could not change. It was better to work with what one could change at present.

The grass had become so tall that it went over their heads, making it impossible to see where they were going. The pollen was getting everywhere too, making his eyes itch. He glanced back at Turner, his guard. Well, there was no way in the world to gain his trust, but perhaps he could persuade Turner's companions that it was not necessary to bind his wrists so tightly that the blood couldn't flow to his fingertips properly. It was also very hard to creep in this long grass when his hands were tied, not allowing him to push aside the plants.

"Imagine how many horses you could feed with this, eh?" came Jack Sparrow's voice from the front.

"Horses wouldn't eat this," remarked one of the others. Sparrow had yet to tell all of them apart. Considering that all of them looked like Turner and even sounded like him, it was quite reasonable. "It's too tough."

"Picky blighters, aren't they?" said Jack. "Well, something's bound to eat this, right?"

"Probably something huge and ferocious, with horns on its nose and on its head, knobs on its back and that could crush you with one foot," said the woman who looked like Eliza, sounded like Eliza, but was definitely not Eliza.

"How do you know all that, Lizzie?"

"Because it's standing right in front of me, Jack." He had to commend that woman; most other women —and men— would have screamed at the sight of the creature that she had just calmly described. There was a flurry of action, or he assumed there was, because the grass started rustling furiously. There was an angry bellow somewhere. It was so loud that he could feel the vibrations in the ground.

An Indian prince had once sent him an elephant; whatever this was, it sounded like a cross between an elephant and a bull. It did not exactly conjure up an image of a sweet-natured giant. Sparrow smiled. Perhaps this creature would do his work for him. Since he was hidden, he was quite safe, and after the others had been dealt with, his only problem would be Turner. The odds would improve immensely.

* * *

The creature snorted and stomped, just like a horse that was warning off a potential enemy. Elizabeth stood her ground. If she ran, it would think she was weak and chase her, and probably run her down, considering it was pretty large. Instead, she stayed still, trying to look as if she was not a threat —which she wasn't. The animal lifted its head and bellowed again. She heard one answering bellow, and then another, until she was deafened by the cacophonic chorus. Every fibre in her body screamed at her to run. Whatever these things were, they were dangerous, and there were a whole herd of them. She heard the rustling of grass behind her and felt a hand on her arm. "Steady," murmured Legolas' voice. Vaguely, she recalled that this was not the first time the elf had come to her rescue. Hopefully this would be another successful rescue. She had no desire to become meat pudding.

Slowly, she turned to look at him. He was staring at the beast with a neutral expression on his pale face. He murmured something, probably in Sindarin. Sometimes, Elizabeth wished that she had been gifted enough with languages to learn Sindarin. As it was, she only knew a few words, whilst her children were fast becoming fluent. Sometimes, it was impossible to understand their conversations. The bull-like creature snorted, but more softly this time. Legolas continued to speak, his voice as smooth as satin and more soothing that the sound of a bubbling mountain brook. The poison hadn't taken away this aspect of him, and for that, she would be eternally grateful.

The animal seemed to decide that they were neither threatening nor interesting enough to be worth its notice. It turned and lumbered off, leaving two very shaken people. "Why can't we ever encounter normal animals?" she whispered as she sank to her knees.

"What constitutes as normal?" asked Legolas. The others were finally emerging from the long grass around them. Will pulled her into a tight embrace. She heard the hammering of his heart as she laid her head on his chest.

"I was so afraid," he whispered into her hair. "I didn't know what to do, for fear of startling that thing."

"If it weren't for Legolas, I'm pretty sure it would have charged; I was on the verge of running," said Elizabeth.

Will turned to the elf. "Thank you," he said. "Once again, I am in your debt for saving that which I love most."

"There is no need for thanks between friends," said the elf. "If it weren't for me, none of us would be here, and there would have been no need for us to deal with creatures like that."

"And if it weren't for the Frenchman, you wouldn't have been shot, and there would have been no need to come here, and Lizzie wouldn't have had to face that thing," said Jack. "So, all in all, it's the Frenchman's fault."

"As if you wouldn't have wanted to find the Fountain of Youth even if I hadn't been shot, Jack," said Legolas. The elf rolled his eyes.

"Yes, but that's beside the point, innit?" said Jack, who was not at all embarrassed. Actually, come to think of it, Elizabeth had never seen Jack embarrassed before. She wondered if he even knew what it meant to be embarrassed. "The point is, we are now here because we don't want you to wither away and die, not just because I have the desire to be free o' death forever, savvy?"

* * *

As they returned to the shelter of the forest —which was, by the way, very poor shelter, since predators lurked in the shadows and behind the trees—, they found more evidence of the great civilization that had once thrived on this island. There were yet more structures with triangular foundations. Everything in this place was based on triangles; triangular buildings, courtyards, cobblestones and even bricks. It wasn't just a trinity of trinities; it was an overload of trinities.

To try and calm himself down, Paris focused on the carvings on the pillars and the remnants of the walls. Out of all his siblings, he had always been the one who noticed the details, especially when it came to art or other intellectual pursuits, and it seemed that it was going to be the same with his brothers-in-arms. They were not unintelligent, but most of them didn't have the patience for this kind of thing, which was probably why they had made him translate that letter from the Haradrim that time when Minas Tirith had been besieged by his brother-in-law's uncle.

At the moment, he was searching for anything that could be a fountain. Actually, he found a lot of fountains on the carvings, but some of them seemed to be there simply because they looked pretty. However, there was one —circular, and not triangular— that seemed to get a lot of attention. Actually, it wasn't really a fountain, but rather more like a pool or a spring. There seemed to be a war raging around it, which made total sense. Men would not think twice about killing others to obtain a treasure such as immortal life. There were also some geographical details which could be helpful in determining where exactly on this cursed island the Fountain was. There were a few trees —conifers, by the looks of them, and they hadn't seen many conifers so far— and what looked like mountains, although they could also be pyramids. There were also mountains of skulls, but those were not actual geographical features so he ignored them. He waved the others over so he could show them.

"Great," said Jack. "So once we find the pine trees and the mountains, we should be able to find immortal life!"

"It sounds like the forests at the foot of the Misty Mountains to me," said Gimli.

"There might probably still be evidence of the battles," said Balian. "If the skulls are anything to go by, then many perished. Perhaps their bones will show us the way."

"It was thousands of years ago," said Achilles. "Will their bones still be there?"

"I don't know about thousands of years, but the bones from the first pilgrims to take the cross still mark the place where they had been ambushed and defeated," said the Frank. "I would imagine that so much death cannot be easily erased."

"So, bones, pine trees and mountains," said Jack. "Well, I suppose I have gone after things with fewer clues than that. But, have you considered that this could just be some random puddle in the middle of nowhere?"

* * *

**A/N: **Things are getting weirder, it seems.


	20. A Worthy Man

**Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize.

**Chapter 20: A Worthy Man**

The ruins were growing less and less ruined as they ventured deeper into the forest. It was as if something had preserved them, some unnamed power which seemed to permeate this place, making it a haven for all sorts of strange and ferocious creatures. It was, however, _not _a haven for mortal men who could easily be killed by said strange and ferocious creatures. Jack was as alert —and sober, unfortunately— as he'd ever been. There was no point in finding the Fountain of Youth, only to be killed by something with sharp teeth.

He could feel something in his bones; something powerful and ancient and completely beyond his understanding. Jack Sparrow was not known for being reverent —he couldn't remember the last time he'd shown respect— but this place was filling him with the same sort of awe with which a pilgrim regarded a holy shrine. He glanced back; it seemed he wasn't the only one who was feeling it.

"I think we're close," said Will. "There's something out here, and I don't mean those things with giant teeth and claws."

The forests gave way to more ruined courtyards, only these did not look as...dead. There were signs of life. No, the rocks were not moving or anything, but there was a simply a different feel to these triangular cobblestones and these columns. The paintings looked fresher, and the carvings sharper. They could see the peaks of mountains rising above the green carpet. There were some mounds a little distance away. At first, they looked like piles of rocks, but as they drew closer, Paris drew in a sharp intake of breath. "Look," he whispered.

They weren't rocks, but skulls. The skulls of men, to be exact. They were piled high. Somehow, although they had probably been here for a very long time. Hollow eyes stared at them. "What do you think happened here?" asked Elizabeth.

"There was a depiction of a battle with these skulls on one of the pillars," said Paris. "I think these are the men who fought—Balian, what are you doing?"

The Frenchman in question had started approaching the mounds of skulls. Slowly, with reverence, he picked one up and turned it over in his hands. "There's a hole at the back," he said.

* * *

Something was not quite right about this skull. Someone had hit this man —woman?— in the back of the head with something sharp. That was normal in battle, of course, but there was something else. The hole was too clean, as if the dead man had not tried to avoid it. That could have happened if the attack had surprised the man, of course. Something made him pick up another skull. The hole in the back was exactly the same; same position, same appearance. No struggle. All of the skulls bore the same wounds.

"Look at this," he said.

"They're bones with holes," said Achilles. "What is so odd about that?"

"Unless these people all submitted to death without fighting back, or unless they were all dead when they sustained these wounds, why would these holes all look identical?" asked the Frank.

"So you're saying someone killed them systematically," said Will. "But why?"

"Mass execution?" said Jack. "It ain't unheard of."

"I just feel that there's something more to it," said Balian, shaking his head as he set down the skull in his hand carefully. It had been someone in the past, and that someone deserved at least some respect. "I don't know why."

"We don't know anything about this place, apart from the fact they have a thing for triangles," said Elizabeth. "We don't know why these people were killed, if they were killed. We don't know why these mounds were made. It could be completely irrelevant."

"Maybe," said Balian, but he wasn't convinced. It was just a feeling that he had, that everything was connected. After all, everything they had seen so far on this island seemed to be connected with the Fountain of Youth. Didn't the carving depict a pool near these piles of skulls? Before he could dwell too long on it, there was a rustle.

* * *

Swords were drawn and arrows were put to bowstrings immediately, as they were afraid that they were being ambushed yet again. However, nothing emerged from the thinning trees. Jack's eyes darted from side to side, trying to spot whatever it had been. It could have been just a bird or lizard, but somehow, against all reason, he doubted it. This island wasn't as abandoned as it had first seemed.

There, another rustle. Jack was ready to shoot something. He just hoped that his aim would be all right, since he was sober and all. He did not function well when sober. At least, not as well as he did when he was not sober. He made a motion with his hand, indicating that they should find out what was making all those noises. It was always better to be the first one to attack rather than wait for someone to attack them.

"Are you going to make me wait much longer?" said a voice. Jack was one of those people who were not easily startled. He'd encountered all sorts of things in his life; weird things. However, the voice made him let out the most undignified squawk —even he couldn't deny that it was a squawk. He had expected someone to be out there, yes, but he hadn't actually expected that someone to actually talk to them.

"Who be ye?" demanded Barbossa. "Come out!" Damn that bastard for stealing his spotlight.

* * *

The man who emerged was not what they had been expecting. Upon first glance, he seemed old, but the more they looked, the more youthful his face became, although his hair remained white and long. His back was straight, and he was garbed in a faded robe of green. There were rings in his ears and nose. Gold rings, with jewels. The thing was, while he looked like a man, he didn't seem like one. He had the form of a man yes, with two eyes, two hands and two feet, but there was something about him. He wasn't like an elf, or any of the elves that he'd ever met, which wasn't a lot, but he felt he had the right to say that he knew just a little bit about the Eldar.

He stood their facing the man, unsure of how he ought to react. If he really was more than a man, then he ought to be respected, but Achilles was a man who did not give out respect or trust easily, and he knew well enough by now that the ability to threaten did not lie in one's physical strength. There were powers in this world that were both beyond his understanding and his control, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was frightened. Just a little.

"I know you do not trust me," said the old man, as if he could read all their thoughts. His voice was low; quiet, but strong, unlike the voice of an old man. In fact, it seemed as if he had two voices, and he was using the two at the same time.

"Then you will know why we are reluctant to follow you, as you asked," said Balian.

"But surely, you must have placed your trust in something you knew you ought not to trust, if you are here," said the man. "There is such a thing called faith, and if you didn't have it, you wouldn't have found this place." He smiled, as if he knew something that they did not, which might very well be the case, since they really didn't know that much at all. He took a step towards them. His movements were graceful, almost elven, but not quite. That was when the Greek warrior caught it. He moved like a predator, perhaps a mountain lion, or maybe one of those swift spotted cats that the Egyptians had gifted to him once, back when he had been a renowned warrior king. It was so strange, thinking of this old man as a predator, and it didn't make him feel any less suspicious of him.

If he noticed the wariness, then he paid it no heed. The man was now just a few feet away from them. He, however, did not pay much attention to most of the group. His attention was on one man; the anomaly. "I should like to think that you, of all people, would understand the importance of faith, mortal who is immortal."

How could he possibly know? Sure, it wasn't the best kept secret in Middle Earth, but only those who had been to Middle Earth knew about Balian's rather odd status as the only Man who had been granted immortality. Before anyone could ask that question out loud, the man turned his attention to Legolas. "And you," he said. "You also came because you had faith, did you not?"

"I had hope," said Legolas, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. They were all unnerved by what this stranger knew, and what they didn't know about him.

"I'm all about faith, mate," said Jack, who seemed to have gotten over his shock at seeing this man, being, whatever he was. "But I ain't got no blind faith. I don't like to get the two mixed up."

* * *

The mortal who was immortal, and the immortal who _could_ be mortal. They had waited for those two for a very long time, he and his compatriots. In fact, they'd waited so long that they'd wondered if the seer had had a false vision. Through the years, the great cities had crumbled into dust, leaving only the barest skeletons. Paint had flaked off frescoes, and even the islands of the archipelago had been reclaimed by the sea, leaving only this small portion of the main metropolis behind. Forests and grasslands had crept back in, conquering areas from which they had been driven back by the fires and axes and scythes of men; a different breed of men from the ones who now stood before them.

They'd lost track of how many times the sun had risen and set, how many seasons had gone by. Time passed a little easier if they didn't count it. They'd watched everything that they'd ever cared for fade away, until the world had become wholly alien to them. The beasts they had once mastered ran wild again. Some of them had even ceased to exist, whilst others had slowly changed, until they became a different type of beast altogether. Throughout the millennia, they'd waited for some news that would signal the arrival of the ones who would end their vigil by the spring. No mortal man was meant to find it. No mortal man was meant to approach it. There had been some, in the past, who had bypassed their security, of course. They had paid dearly for it. To his knowledge, only one mortal man who had drunken from the spring still lived, and there was still plenty of time for him to get himself killed.

Still, men had fought over the spring and what it offered. That was how the kingdom fell. It hadn't always been like that, of course, for there had been a time when the people who had once inhabited the now non-existent archipelago had been willing to accept their lot. Their lives had been peaceful and prosperous. They didn't want anything else. They didn't know anything else. And then something had come here; something that had awakened the greed in the people and brought disaster. First there had been the floods, and then the droughts. After that, the earthquakes had come. Liquid fire had spurted out from cracks in the earth and covered the land with ash and dust, making the land an infertile landscape of grey. Smoke had veiled the sun. The crops had struggled to grow.

As the conditions had worsened, the competition for what resources were left had turned into outright war. Then the people had begun to change. The less they'd had, the more they'd wanted. Power had been the only way to ensure survival, and there was no power greater than what immortality could offer. The lords had warred with one another, each trying to obtain the waters of the spring. Their paths to immortality had been paved with the bones of their soldiers, who didn't even really know what they were fighting for. In the end, the remaining elders, men who had once been revered as priests, had hidden the spring from the world. The calamities continued, until the people of the archipelago kingdom had lost hope. Some had sailed away in hopes of finding a place where they could set root and begin to grow again.

He turned his mind back to the present. The men were still standing there. None of them had made a move, although he could tell that they were on the verge of either charging or fleeing. He knew what they had come for. There was only one thing mortals wanted from this island these days. There was no point in talking around the issue. "You seek what they call the Fountain of Youth, yes?"

* * *

Damn, he knew everything. "Do you know where it is?" asked Will, trying to keep his alarm from showing. From his experience, people who knew so much were generally dangerous people. After all, Cutler Beckett had known a lot.

"I suppose I do," said the man.

"Will you take us there?" asked Elizabeth.

"Do I have a good reason to?"

"Do you have a good reason not to?" said Elizabeth.

"Those who find it deserve it," said the man. "Those who can't, do not." He turned and walked away, back into the jungle, except now that Will thought about it, it wasn't so much a jungle as it was a forest, for it was filled with pine trees. They tried to follow him, but somehow, he had disappeared.

"Well, gentlemen," said Jack. "I guess it's still up to us. So, Paris, what did you see on that pillar again?"

* * *

Paris hoped that the depiction of the battle and the skulls and the Fountain on the pillar had been fairly accurate. Otherwise, they'd be heading off on a wild goose chase and they would be none the wiser. This little 'rock' was actually huge, or perhaps there was some spell to make it seem that way. There were many tiny little rivers running through the jungle, and they would hunt the strangest beasts for food. The most common was a bony bird with teeth and membranous wings. Truth be told, it didn't even look all that much like a bird, for it had more in common with the winged beasts of Mordor.

Conifers. They were looking for conifers. He couldn't believe that such a common tree would actually be a clue to the whereabouts of the secret of immortality. "Legolas, where do you think there would be conifers on this island?" he asked.

"You ask me?" said the elf. "Who am _I_ supposed to ask? I no longer smell things the way I used to, and the trees do not speak to me."

"But there must be more to it. There must be something about the soul of an elf that sets it apart from that of a man," argued the Trojan. He was just going out on a limb here. He had no idea if the souls of different creatures were different. Legolas didn't think too differently from himself, or from Jack. No, actually, everyone thought differently from Jack. That was a bad example.

"Even if there is, you are asking the wrong elf," said Legolas. "This would be a question better suited for the Lady Galadriel, or perhaps Lord Elrond. I think you would be better off looking for the mountains."

"What if they're just basic background design?" demanded Paris. "Then we would never find them."

"I don't think they were put there simply for the sake of aesthetics," said Balian. "In the murals with the dragons and wyverns and the ships, there were no mountains, so my guess is that there are some mountains, or perhaps hills, here. It is much bigger than we'd originally thought, after all."

"Don't you think we'd be able to see those mountains, though?" asked Elizabeth.

"Maybe they're secret hidden mountains," said Gimli.

"Why can't things be simple for once?" lamented Will.

"When are things ever simple with us, laddie? Simply knowing each other is already an impossibility."

Jack, by then, had managed to coax Achilles to give him a leg up. The pirate deftly scrambled up a huge alien tree. Leaves rained down on the people below. "Don't fall, Jack!" called Elizabeth as she squinted up at him. "There'll be no one to catch you!"

"That's jus' reassurin' innit, Lizzie?" Jack hollered back. "It's good to know that you're still heartless."

"She be practical," said Barbossa, "which be more than I can say fer ye, Sparra."

"Thank you, Captain Barbossa," said Elizabeth.

"I'm very practical, thank you very much. Ooh, look! Pyramids! Black pyramids! Heh, they weren't mountains after all!"

* * *

It was very hard to maintain enthusiasm for long. They'd already walked for so long, and the pyramids were at least a four day walk away, judging by the extremely slow pace at which they were proceeding. It wasn't anything to do with them. Rather, it had everything to do with the increasingly difficult terrain. Will, William, Achilles, Gimli and Balian were all hacking away at the thorny underbrush with their swords, but not only were the bushes tougher than just about anything else they'd ever encountered, they also grew so thickly that it took three minutes to walk a yard; at least, it felt that way.

It was as if the island itself wanted to keep the secret of immortality hidden. Either that, or the old man they'd met was playing tricks on them. Paris wouldn't put it beyond him. He'd guarded the fountain for so long, and for what? So that no unworthy man would be able to find it. What defined a worthy man? He supposed persistence would be one of the traits. He based his understanding of worthiness on his brother. Hector had always been persistent, even though it seemed there had been no hope. What else? Hector was a leader, but he was also a man who believed in working as a team, which was exactly what they were doing right now.

"Can't we just burn the thorns?" asked Briseis.

"Luv, we're in the middle of a _forest_," said Jack. "If we start a fire now, there's no knowin' whether we'll burn ourselves."

"All right, so that's a bad idea," muttered the young woman. "But there has to be _some_ way, right?"

"What else are we going to do? Part the thorns the way Moses parted the sea?"

There was a flurry of questions about who Moses was and what he did to part the sea, and whether the same thing would work on thorns. They learned that Moses was a prophet, a Chosen One of Balian's God. That ended up in them trying to make the flustered Frank part the thorns with whatever magic this Moses had used. That, of course, did not work, not that Balian actually tried. Jack told him that he lacked faith. Jack almost got his nose broken.

Therefore, the only way to go about reaching the mountains was to continue hacking. It went on for an entire day and then some, testing even the most patient and good humoured of them, and they were already short on good humour, after what had happened with James Sparrow and Jonathan Beckett. Speaking of which, Paris was really tempted to abandon the two prisoners out here in the middle of nowhere, although certain people, and he was really talking about a certain Frank who adamantly believed in giving people second chances, would object to that.

Legolas gave an excited shout. "Pine tree!" he said. "Over here! Pine tree!"

* * *

"There is _one_ pine tree," remarked Achilles. "Didn't the mural say there was a forest?"

"It is not uncommon for forests to change over time," said Legolas. "The land changes. Over time, it becomes better suited for the growth of other trees, and those trees claim that territory. This pine is weak. It is old, and I see the remains of another pine nearby."

"You can tell that the rotting stump is a pine?"

"I have lived for almost three thousand years in a _forest_, my lord Achilles. I think I know what a pine tree looks like, dead or alive." The elf glanced around. "I think this is it. This is the conifer forest we're looking for."

"So we have the mountains, the pine trees, and I think those skulls back there can count as the bones, but where the _hell_ is the _Fountain_?" said Jack. "Oi, Paris, where was the location of the Fountain in relation to the pyramids, the trees and the bones?"

"It was between the trees and the bones, with the pyramids in the background," said Paris. He frowned. There was something else besides that. Surrounding that image had been a long scaly beast with curved teeth, curved talons, and a spiked tail. The creature's mouth had been open, and poised above the pyramids, the Fountain, and the soldiers. It had three eyes, one on either side of its sledge-shaped skull, and one right at the front. That eye had been situated above the tip of the tallest pyramid in the middle, and it had been looking down at the Fountain. Perhaps it was a clue. Maybe such a creature watched over the Fountain. Perhaps... "We have to climb to the top of the tallest pyramid," said the Trojan prince. "I have a feeling that we will only be able to see the Fountain if we look down from there."

* * *

**A/N: **Back from a long hiatus!


End file.
